Means to an End
by jollygreendragon
Summary: The children of the third generation find themselves in the employ of a mysterious man with a mysterious agenda. The choices they make will determine both the fate of Weyard and their place in it for years to come. Sequel to Drops of Jupiter, OC-centric.
1. Prologue: A Land of Light

**Golden Sun belongs to Nintendo and Camelot, not me. Support them if you like the series! I just write fanstuff. And if you feel like borrowing any of my original ideas, please, go right ahead.**

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><p><strong>Before you begin:<strong>

**Means to an End is a sequel to one of my other stories, Drops of Jupiter. Reading that one first is not essential; in general, I will try to outline or summarize the necessary backstory where applicable. But if you read this first, you WILL spoil much of the previous story for yourself. I've also made several minor changes to the mechanics of alchemy for this fan-universe, which I explained in detail in DoJ and will probably only gloss over around here.**

**You will have to have played all 3 Golden Sun games that exist at the time of this writing to completion in order to have even the faintest idea of what's going on. **

**With all that in mind, read on! I hope you enjoy the story.**

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><p>It would not be difficult to argue that Weyard was a land of light.<p>

The easiest example lies within the Golden Sun, the world-changing cataclysm that shaped the world decades ago. It was the embodiment of Alchemy, the force that underlies all life and all existence. Its birth signalled both creation and destruction; it shifted the continents, ruined towns, and shattered civilization, just as it filled the world with the force of magic, reinvigorating Weyard and literally expanding its horizons.

But the Golden Sun was a temporary event. The true sun, Sol, still hung reliably over the heads of the citizens of Weyard, rising and setting day in and day out. It left no destruction in its wake, no chaos; but when it rose in the east, the flowers bloomed, the sky shifted from black to blue, and a comforting warmth spread throughout the land. It was not the mightiest source of light in Weyard – any who lived to see the rise of the Golden Sun would attest to that – but it was the most reliable one.

Even when the sun set in the west and the world was plunged into nighttime, Weyard was not without light. For when Sol was absent, Luna took its place in the sky, a pale sphere lying innocently in the vast blackness. Along with the twinkling stars, Luna was generally quite unobtrusive. She was a quaint source of light, one that would never take the place of the true sun, but certainly a welcome stand-in, and obviously better than the pitch-blackness that would have taken hold without her silvery rays. Luna was the quiet one, causing no trouble for anyone if she could help it. Only two exceptions – one town transformed by her light each night, and one catastrophe brought about by the misuse of her hidden power – existed, but now is not the time to get into that.

On a cloudy night like tonight, Luna and the stars would never be visible, but some places in Weyard could yet be bathed in light. The Elemental Lighthouses still stood, monuments to each of the four natural elements of Psynergy, despite their uses being exhausted many years previous in the creation of the Golden Sun. The Lighthouses of Mercury, Venus, Mars and Jupiter were each topped with a brilliant beacon of colored light – blue, yellow, red and purple, respectively – that could be seen for many miles around. To those Adepts of Psynergy who knew the power of a given lighthouse's element, the beacon's light was even more than that. It was pure life, pure essence, pure emotion, and pure thought. To look upon one's Lighthouse was to see one's soul mirrored in the distance, and to feel the stirrings of creation itself.

Sadly, Weyard is a very large place. Only four Lighthouses exist, and thus most of the world is deprived of their brilliant light. So with the Golden Sun come and gone, the true sun set, and the sky cloudy, many people – the people of Kolima included – would have to make due in utter darkness if not for human ingenuity. While Mars Adepts had always been able to create fire, and Jupiter Adepts could call the lightning itself, the power of technology meant that anyone, Adept or otherwise, could create enough light to chase away the darkness indefinitely with nothing more than a stick of wax and an embedded bit of string.

It didn't have to be indefinitely, either. It could be for just long enough to put a six-year-old to bed.

Some six-year-olds are stubborn, and thus it requires a lot of time and effort to put them to sleep. It's good, then, that Weyard is a land of light, because pitch-blackness would have made an already nigh-unmanageable chore even worse.

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><p>"But Dad, I'm not tired! I don't wanna go to sleep!"<p>

Matthew sat in a chair next to his daughter's bed. She sat upright, arms folded, while she stared him down defiantly with the confidence of someone several times her age. He sighed loudly at her spoiled, grating whine, wondering where in all the hells she got this behavior from. Her brother certainly had never been like this.

Leaning back and placing his hands on his knees, Matthew tried to keep himself calm. He watched the candle as it flickered on little Emily's bedside table, faintly illuminating her small bedroom, still strewn as it was with far more toys and ragdolls than she honestly deserved. He noticed with some dismay that another of her dolls appeared to have been broken, and her wooden sword lay next to it like a murder weapon at the scene of a crime. He sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair, prompting Emily to clear her throat loudly and demand more attention.

"I'm not tired!" she repeated. "Why does Vol get to stay up and I don't? It's so unfair!"

"Vol gets to stay up because he's eight," Matthew replied, "and because he isn't the one who's been throwing tantrums all day. You're overtired, Em. I'll get you a glass of water if you like, but that's it. Off to bed after that."

Emily rolled her eyes. "I'm not thirsty, Dad," she protested. "An' I'm not overtired, either. I'm not tired at all. I could stay up all night." She sat up as straight as she could, trying to prove her point by appearing alert. She almost managed to stifle a yawn, too.

Matthew thought for a moment before coming up with a plan. He hid his smile, matching her posture and taking on a professional-looking pose.

"Alright, so you want to stay up later. What're you going to do with the extra time? And don't say play with toys, I'm taking the candle with me when I leave." Matthew leaned forward for emphasis. "If you stay awake, you'll get very bored, very fast. Wouldn't it just be easier to go to sleep so you can reach morning faster?"

Emily frowned. She watched him very carefully, searching for signs of trickery or guile. She spoke hesitantly. "Why don't you stay here then? You and Mom stay up late all the time. You can just play with me."

Matthew laughed at her logic. "I've got other stuff to do, Emily. Work stuff. And when I'm done that, your mother and I will probably head to bed shortly after anyway. I'm afraid I just don't have time to play at night."

"Just a little?"

"No."

Emily pouted. She twitched her long, beastial ears, the only hint of her unusual heritage aside from her razor-sharp teeth and slender, clawed fingers.

"Tell me a bedtime story, then?" she pleaded. "Just one, and then I promise I'll go to bed."

"What's the magic word?"

"_Please?_"

Matthew smiled. Victory was his. "Alright," he conceded, "what do you want to hear?"

"Something fun!" the girl cried. "Exciting, with swords and dragons and... and cool stuff!"

Matthew reached out for a thin picture-book on her bedside table, the candlelight revealing its title – _The Sun Saga._ It was the tale of the eight Warriors of Vale, the talented youths who saved the world decades before by initiating the Golden Sun Event. It certainly had swords (one of which actually hung above their fireplace downstairs), and the dragons were–

"No, I've heard that one before!" she said. "Mom reads it to me all the time. And anyway, Grandma and Grandpa always tell me bits of it when they come over, and it's so much more fun firsthand."

Oh. Right. Her grandparents – Matthew's parents – were two of the eight Warriors anyway. Of course she knew the story by now, and of course she'd be sick of it – that would be too simple and easy.

But Matthew paused. Why would it have to be his parents' story? Why should they get all the glory? Matthew and his wife had had adventures of their own, too. It was the main reason that they had met in the first place. Obviously they couldn't tell Emily all the details, that would be too dangerous, but... but maybe if Matthew got a little creative...

He smirked. "Alright, fine. I've got a new story to tell you, one that I promise you've never heard before. There are swords and magic, and... well, there aren't any dragons in it, but... well I dunno, does that count as a dragon? I think maybe-"

"A new story?" Emily interrupted, squealing with glee. "Oh wow, thanks!" And then she shuffled herself under her sheets, pulling them up to her neck and then watching her father expectantly.

"Alright, so where to begin... uhm, okay. So, there was this guy, uh... a warrior kind of guy. He lived way off in the mountains with his dad and his friends, sort of secluded from everybody else, until one day he... uh, okay, actually, that's kind of a crappy place to start."

Emily's grin began to fade. "...Have you ever told this story before?"

Matthew shook his head, blushing in embarrassment. "Afraid not. And it's been years since I... uh, heard this story. Just gimme a second, I need to plan it out-"

"Daaaaaaaaaad! I'm getting bored!"

"Okay, fine! Umm, so, the guy did a bunch of unrelated stuff. It's complicated, we won't get into it, but the point is, he met a princess."

"...Did they kiss?"

"Eventually-! Okay, wait, geez, you're getting ahead of me-"

Emily began tapping her fingers against her covers impatiently.

"Just let me tell the story, alright?" Matthew begged. "Okay. So, uh... this princess. She was a part of the royal family of Morgal – that's the country we live in... and, uh, this is back when they had a royal family, lots of years ago – and, yeah. Uh, Morgal was in trouble. So she got the guy and his friends to, uh... help out. And stuff."

"Have you _ever_ told a story before, Dad?"

"Yes, but I usually have a book to read from! Quit interrupting me!" Matthew took a breath, stalling for time so he could catch his train of thought. "Okay, so, uh... anyway, the guy and the princess-"

"Names?"

"Joe and Jane! How's that? So, Joe and Jane-"

"Those are boring names."

"Got a better idea?"

Emily pit a finger on her lips to think about it, and then grinned happily. "I want the princess to be named Emily," she said. "You can call the guy whatever you like."

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You know what?" he said. "I think we're going with Joe and Jane. They're boring names, but names are kind of irrelevant. Alright?"

"But-"

"If you interrupt me one more time, I'm stopping the story and you're going straight to bed."

Emily was silent, but her expression was far from neutral.

It was good enough for her father.

"Great. So, uh, Joe and Princess Jane and their friends travelled all over the world and went on all sorts of adventures together, all for the sake of the Princess's nation. They trained their skills, developed their abilities as a team, and so forth, up until the final battle, where they... uh, won. Mostly. The tragic part was that the Princess... uh, her parents were dead, and her brother was the king... well, the Princess's brother was killed in the battle. And that made her the queen.

"So, Queen Jane took the throne of Morgal, and it was really, really stressful. See, the nation was suffering really badly in the aftermath of that final battle. So she basically had to do all the work to get the country working again, and when Joe showed up for a visit, it was all she could do not to beg him to stay and share the work. After all, they had gotten used to working together in their adventures. But... see, Jane and Joe both realized that they had also grown close. Like, closer-than-friends close. But they couldn't really be together.

"Like, the weird thing about royalty is that for the most part, they can only marry other royal people. Princes marry princesses, that sort of thing. So, since Joe was a commoner – that's the word you use for people who aren't royal – they couldn't get married without the people of Morgal getting upset, and a Queen needs the support of her people. Oh, and another thing is that Queen Jane was a beastwoman, and Joe was a human, and that would've been a big deal-"

"A human and a beastwoman? Like you and Mom?"

Matthew glared at Emily. She shrank back. "Sorry," she added almost inaudibly.

"Yes," Matthew answered with a sigh, "_Exactly_ like your mother and I."

"And it's a big deal that you two are together? Is that why Mom avoids all the people who're new to Kolima, and only spends time with close friends? Are you trying to hide that you married a beastwoman?"

"No, I-

"Because it's kind of obvious with me and Vol around."

"I... it's complicated."

"Why?" Emily asked sincerely. "What's wrong about it? Should I be hiding too?"

"Nothing's wrong about it. People just tend to be... afraid, or confused by things that are new to them." Matthew shook his head sadly. "See, the beastman race only showed up in the wake of the Golden Sun. They established a kingdom of their own, and spent most of their time trying to carve out a place in the world after that. Beastmen and humans getting together was unheard of. Your mother and I were the first interracial couple, actually, as far as I know-"

"What about Jane and Joe?"

"...Second. We were the second, uh, human-beastman couple..." Matthew paused. "We're getting off-track."

Emily shrugged. "The story was kind of getting boring anyway. Can you just skip to the end?"

"Bad guys show up, Jane gets kidnapped, Joe saves her, they kick butt together, Jane and Joe get hitched right after they win. Jane leaves the throne to be with Joe and they find a replacement for her. They have kids and live happily ever after somewhere."

"Are their kids real?"

"Yeah."

"Where are they?"

"Somewhere."

Emily considered this for a moment. She looked as if she was about to ask a question, but she remained mercifully silent. Instead, she let out a massive yawn and settled into her covers.

"...So how was that, then?" Matthew asked. "I was a little mismatched in my storytelling, but-"

"The story needs work. You need to think about it some more, and write it down so you don't make as many mistakes. You said there would be dragons and swords, too, but you forgot them." Emily yawned again, then continued. "Also, you need to show and not tell. If they have a fight, tell me about the fight, don't just say it happened. That's boring. I think I want Mom to tell me a bedtime story tomorrow night, she's way better at it than you."

Matthew rolled his eyes. He stood up from the chair, pushed it neatly against the wall of the room, and kissed his daughter goodnight. "Thanks for the criticism, then. I'll pass your praise on to Mom for you. Sleep well, okay?"

As he bent to blow out the candle, Emily turned to him one last time.

"If the queen leaves the throne and has kids, do the kids count as royal too?" she asked. "Like, in Jane's case, if she has a son, is he a prince even though they aren't in charge anymore?"

Matthew shrugged. "I think so. They're royalty in exile or something. I'm no expert, sorry." He blew out the candle. " 'Night."

" 'Night, Dad. Your story kind of sucked, but thanks for trying."

Matthew laughed. He tucked her in, turned and walked out of the room, and then stopped just outside. He smiled at her, his expression only faintly visible in the darkness. He winked anyway, just out of principle.

"See you in the morning, princess," he said, before gently swinging the door closed.

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><p>Click.<p>

Matthew froze as he sensed a presence a few feet to his right, blocking his exit down the stairs.

He closed his eyes slowly, cursing himself for missing something so obvious. He was a Venus Adept. He could sense spirit energy, and that meant that he could sense if a living person was nearby. He had just let his guard down, and it had come back to kick him in the butt.

His eight-year-old son stood, arms folded. His gaze was more disciplinary than defiant.

"Hi, Vol," Matthew said. "How long have you been standing there?"

The young Volechek, son of Sveta and Matthew, heavily favored his mother in more ways than one. As a member of the beastman race, Sveta had enhanced senses, naturally greater strength, and what could be described as "feral" features. Vol, as he was called for short, could have passed for a beastman easily if he tried; indeed, most humans would not even know what to look for. His human-inherited characteristics were difficult to notice. He lacked pads on his hands and feet, for example, and he had his father's height and build; most beastmen were smaller than the average human, and Vol was already beginning to tower over his friends, regardless of race.

Vol shook his head slowly. He motioned for his father to follow, and then led the way downstairs.

When they were out of earshot, Vol spoke.

"You are not supposed to tell her, Dad," he said. "Mom will be very upset."

Matthew threw his hands into the air in protest. "I didn't tell her anything!" he whispered. "Just told her a bedtime story. A completely unrelated, made-up-on-the-spot bedtime story."

"You called her 'princess.'"

"It's a pet name! She's my daughter!" Matthew scrunched up his nose. "And YOU, mister, are my son. You aren't allowed to give me that kind of tone."

Vol stopped at the bottom of the stairs and moved out of the way to allow his father to get through. He didn't need to respond.

His mother, sitting in the living room with regal dignity, did it for him with her cold smile.

"I am," she said. "Matthew, please. We have discussed this at length. Even giving hints could prove troublesome. She is a very bright girl."

"Sveta, I know she is, but I just... it's unfair to keep all this from her, isn't it?" Matthew took a seat across from his wife, as Vol hurried to take a chair at his mother's side. "She knows all about my side of the family. She thinks you were abandoned as a child and raised yourself on the streets. Vol knows the truth, and he's-"

"Vol would not know the truth either, had he not been born a Jupiter like myself," Sveta interrupted. "He found things out on his own using my family's Spirit Sense talent. We are lucky that he is responsible enough to keep things to himself."

Matthew sighed helplessly.

"I just don't see why we can't, I dunno, ease her into it. Just drop little comments about how hard it is to be queen, how many responsibilities you have to take over..." He shrugged. "She's fine about being descended from a line of legendary heroes. How hard could it be to add nobility to that?"

"But she is NOT fine with having heroic blood!" Vol replied. "She thinks she is better than everyone else. She assumes she will have natural talent at everything she tries."

"No reading your sister's mind, Vol. It's rude."

"I do not need to. The other children have stopped playing Hide And Seek with her because of how much she brags at being unbeatable at it."

"But she's unbeatable at it because she can sense where the other kids are!"

"That is one of the things she says when she brags."

Feeling quite defeated, Matthew sunk his face into his hands. "I can never win with you guys teaming up against me."

Vol and Sveta smiled smugly. Sveta brushed Vol's hand and looked at him meaningfully; a second later, Vol pulsed dimly with psynergy, and Matthew felt waves moving weakly between his wife and his son. The boy grinned.

"Guys!" Matthew said in an exaggerated, whiny tone.

Vol brushed his mother's hand, and she followed suit, pulsing dimly and reading her son's mind with Spirit Sense. When the waves ceased, she snickered quietly, but loud enough to let Matthew know that she was doing it on purpose.

He crossed his legs and folded his arms. "You two are _so unfair,_" Matthew complained. "No having mind-reading conversations behind my back."

"But we are not behind your back," Sveta said innocently. "We are right in front of you."

"Don't give me that 'literal thinker' stuff, Kittydog," Matthew replied, using his pet name for his beloved. He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother."

Sveta hugged her son tightly. "But seriously, Matthew. Please, I beg of you, do not risk it with Emily. I am in hiding. If anyone even remotely connected to Belinsk knew who I was, or where I was..."

Matthew nodded sadly. She didn't need to finish.

In truth, their relationship only got off the ground because Sveta was kidnapped a few weeks after taking the throne of Morgal. Matthew eventually saved her (with a lot of help), but they agreed that it would be too difficult for them to stay together if she wore the crown. So they used the convenient excuse of the "kidnapping" to run away together, leaving the throne behind and beginning a new life on their own. The only person they told was Sveta's closest aide, a squirrelman by the name of Bentley, so that he could make whatever arrangements necessary to keep the nation on its feet under democratic rule... and, of course, quietly call off the search-and-rescue operation.

But now Bentley was dead, having fallen victim to a stress-induced stroke several years prior. In a worst-case scenario, there would be no one to support their story, and technically, while Matthew had saved the former queen, he had also neglected to return her to her people. It was possible that the beastmen would see Matthew as just as wretched a villain as the people who took Sveta in the first place.

To make matters worse, the previous king, Volechek Czamaral – young Vol's uncle, and namesake – had passed away at the peak of his reign, leaving the people of Morgal with unrealistic expectations of what a monarch should be capable of. They had a collective obsession with the royal family that persisted even while the throne itself remained empty. If a beastman, any beastman, found and identified Sveta, they would work with fanatic fervor to return her to her station.

It had been a difficult situation to work with.

"I wish things had gone differently," Matthew said.

"As do I, sometimes. But Emily cannot learn of her lineage." Sveta finished in hushed tones. "If she is anything like I was, certainly..."

Matthew and Vol both looked at her in surprise. Her ears flattened, and she blushed in embarrassment.

"I apologize, I did not mean to say that out loud," she said.

"What do you mean, 'like I was'?" Vol asked. "Were you an overconfident, self-centered jerk like she is?"

Matthew snickered while Sveta's jaw dropped in shock.

"First of all, do not speak of your sister that way," Sveta scolded, "and second of all, no, I was not like her. I was raised to be a lady. I was groomed to be... well, _marriageable._ But I was rebellious, as your father can attest. We first met on one of my many escapes from the castle. My family wanted me to stay, so I left. And if Emily knows we want her to keep away from the throne..."

Sveta blanched at the thought.

As she finished speaking, Vol yawned quietly to himself, covering his mouth politely as he did so. He blinked slowly, and then cleared his throat.

"I am feeling tired," he announced, "and I think I will go to bed if that is alright."

Matthew smiled. "That's fine, of course. It's getting late anyway. Maybe we can talk about this more another day. Coming to bed, Kittydog?"

"Naturally," Sveta said sweetly. "Goodnight, Vol. Have a good sleep, and I will see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad. I love you."

Vol went up first, while Matthew and Sveta stayed behind to lock up the house and extinguish any remaining lamps.

But before they went to bed, Matthew stopped his wife at the foot of the stairs. In the darkness, he planted a quick kiss on her lips, and then brought her in close.

"Do you ever wish you hadn't left Belinsk?" he said, speaking low.

She hesitated.

"What I wish," she whispered back, "is that my brother had lived. With him on the throne, I would have remained merely a princess. We could have made you out to be some form of Kalay nobility, and presented it as an arranged diplomatic marriage, or... or maybe the king could have formed some honorary position for you to fill in the government-"

"But I mean, do you ever regret your decision to leave the throne empty?"

There was a long, long pause.

Before she answered, she ran her hands across his shoulders. She kissed him on the neck, and nuzzled him softly. "I feel guilt, occasionally. I left them in their time of need. They still beg for me back. But my home is here now, in Kolima, and I have a family that I love with all my heart. If I could do it again, I would not change my decision. I would not even consider it."

She pulled away before he could say anything else. Her eyes shined in the darkness of the night, and as she took his hand to lead him upstairs, Matthew was swallowed by shame. Sveta had sacrificed so much for the family: her home, her people, even her identity. What had he lost? What had he been forced to give up for her? Almost nothing. He moved from a comfortable home in Kalay to a comfortable home in Kolima.

He wished he could make it up to her. He would have given anything to make life easier for her. That was part of the inspiration for his plan to tell Emily of her royal blood – simplicity. But it seemed that no matter what he tried, he made things worse before they ever got better.

With a resigned sigh, he followed his wife up the stairs. Their story was over. All he could do now was be as good of a husband, and a father, as he was able.

_Sometimes,_ he thought, _things just don't turn out the way they ought to._

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><p><em>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<em>

_It's an unfortunate (and oddly specific) fact of life that almost any fanfiction with original characters will be looked down upon by most of the fanbase. People read fanfics because of the characters they've already grown acquainted with. They want to see the people they already know doing things they haven't seen before. And... well, to be frank, some fanfic authors are kind of bad at creating original material._

_What I'm hoping, possibly in vain, is that I've managed to get some people invested enough in my own spin on the existing characters that they'll give me a chance to take the world in a new direction. Dark Dawn made a splash when it was announced because you got to play as the 2nd generation of Warriors – people were all hyped up about being able to see Isaac, Jenna etc.'s kids, learn about them, and get just as attached to them as they had been to the first generation. I'm obviously not expecting to make even a ripple with my own little story about the 3rd generation, but... well, it's an experiment. We'll see where it goes, and hopefully a handful of people will stick around for the ride._

_Vol and Emily will be central characters (the bulk of the plot takes place 10 years from this point, by the way – the prologue just takes place in the past), and the rest of the party will remain a secret for now. I plan to have a few people swapping in and out intermittently, but other than a few major events that I would like to take place (I know how it ends too), most of the plot is still up in the air. We'll see where it takes us, and hopefully there'll be some fun surprises for everybody, including me!_

_By the way, this chapter was written on September 14th. It's been sitting there, tempting me, for longer than five months now. Hope it was worth the wait! It sure has been for me._


	2. Legacy

**Golden Sun belongs to Nintendo and Camelot, not me. Support them if you like the series! I just write fanstuff. And if you feel like borrowing any of my original ideas, please, go right ahead.**

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><p><em>Ten years later<em>

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><p>From atop her perch, at the very top of the trees, she could see her whole kingdom. She could see the mountain where the Roc once roosted... before her father slew it, of course. She could see the Endless Wall of Sana to the distant south. She saw where the ocean met the horizon to the east. And of course, far to the west, she saw the jagged mound she knew to be Belinsk, the capital of Morgal, and the great castle that lay at its core.<p>

All that she could see. The very edges of her world. In her mind, she owned it all. One day she would visit it. One day it would all be hers.

If only the rest of the world saw it that way, she thought with a frown. Poor, mundane girl. Nothing to her family name but a tiny shop in a tiny city in a forest that seemed small to one who was not allowed to leave it.

Emily glanced toward the sun and decided she had been sitting and thinking for long enough. She started the careful climb back down the tree, one of the tallest in Kolima, dreading her inevitable meeting with her parents. She had shirked her chores again to hang out with friends, and as they started to drift off and actually handle their own responsibilities, she had stayed alone, working her way to her favorite spot in the forest.

She must have sat there, watching and thinking, for an hour or more. Now she was making the descent down her hidden path, across branches that met by coincidence, down vines that she grew herself with her Venus talents. She remembered planning and constructing the route years before. She remembered breaking the canopy for the first time, feeling the sun and the air on her face. It was the first time she felt free.

Now she had to go home again. Like, _whatever._

The city of Kolima was composed of buildings carved into the forest's massive tree trunks. In theory, the main walking routes were all along the forest floor, but everyone in the city knew a shortcut or two across the boughs. Emily liked to think that she knew them all, that she could go anywhere from anyplace without touching the ground. Her current route took her around city hall, through the attic of the inn, and down through the tavern to the bottom floor. If somebody saw her leaving the tavern, no one would think twice. She and her friends weren't old enough to drink yet at sixteen, but they liked to hope. And pretend.

She came down the stairs into the tavern proper. The barman gave her a friendly wave, and she smiled and waved back. She scanned the other patrons, but while she saw some familiar faces – an inevitability in a smallish city like Kolima – she didn't spot anyone she felt like talking to.

The barman called her over before she left. "Ho, Emily!" he said. "Don't feel like staying for a drink or two?"

She shook her head, running her fingers absentmindedly through her shoulder-length blonde hair. "Sorry, I'd love to. But I'm late home already, and I don't want to push it." She shrugged. "Maybe I'll come back when I get another chance tonight, though. Any news from the outside?"

"Oh, some," replied the barman. "There always is. Depends on where you're listening for. Any chance your father's got my order ready yet?"

Emily nodded. "Almost all of it, yeah. I think Vol's actually out collecting the rest right now." Her older brother had helped stock their father's general goods store since he was young. He was much better at tracking than she was, though, and she couldn't be trusted with the responsibility anyway. "I can let him know if you want part of it early."

The barman shook his head with a polite smile. "No rush, hon! Just wondering. I know your Dad's good for it, he always is. Just good to check in now and then."

"What am I to you, just a messenger?" asked Emily with an impish grin.

"A messenger and a significant source of revenue!" laughed the barman. "I can't wait until you're old enough for me to serve you alcohol. I'll be the richest man in Morgal!"

"Hey," said Emily, "if you ever want to start early..."

"No, ma'am! Not a chance am I going to risk getting on your father's bad side. It'd be bad for business!" The barman scratched his neck. "And your mom's got a mean right hook, I hear."

Emily cringed. _Oh gods, today's sparring practice too,_ she thought. _Mom'll flay me alive if I'm late for that._

She thanked the barman for his time and excused herself, running out of the tavern and down the forest roads to her house. She didn't stop or slow once the entire way.

Not that it was unusual. Emily ran just about everywhere.

It was in her blood.

* * *

><p>A wise man once said that it is impossible to look cool while running with a backpack.<p>

It is one of the world's indisputable truths.

But Prince Volechek Czamaral II, at 6'3", and around 250lb of solid, compact muscle, came pretty close.

It helped that he was remarkably agile for someone of his size. He was a natural acrobat, and he moved along low branches as often as the forest trails themselves. He never tripped, and he never slowed, and he had an air of awareness that would make one think that the trees themselves were his eyes and ears.

His pack was full of various herbs and spices that he had collected on his run. He had memorized a list of the things he needed, some of them fairly rare; luckily, he was an excellent tracker and herbalist. He knew where to look and never went home empty-handed. All he had left to do was check a few traps he had laid for smaller animals. He'd bring the poor beasts home to be sold or skinned or eaten.

Not that Vol ate them himself. He was a vegetarian. And if they were to be eaten by anyone, he'd make sure they were prepared in a humane fashion.

He hopped off a rock and landed lightly on a tree branch. It was always the little things that mattered most, he mused as he carefully, quietly navigated toward the first trap on his list. Subtle movements made a big difference as he balanced. Proper footwork could determine whether he scared away game. And kindness in all things would make a difference in the lives of everyone he met, whether human or animal. If a rabbit had to die to feed a family, he would make sure it went painlessly.

Little known fact: all animals went to heaven. Vol knew it to be true.

He spotted the trap he was looking for. It was a small slipknot-string, designed to close tightly if anything stepped inside. It was empty. Vol shrugged; he didn't mind. He felt kind of bad for placing the traps in the first place.

But before he left, something caught his eye, just a few feet beyond the trap. Flowers. Tall, with broad, bright yellow petals. He smiled. Mountain Daffodils. It was very rare for them to grow this far down the slopes.

He hopped down from his branch and strode confidently toward them, stepping around the trap so as not to disturb it. Then he knelt near the flowers, gently touching them with his lavender-furred fingers.

They would be a wonderful gift for Meg, he thought. She had seemed bothered by something lately, and while he knew he could read her safely – she wasn't an Adept, and couldn't tell when he was using psynergy – he would never invade her privacy like that without asking first. They had been dating for three months now, and only recently had it seemed to get rocky. He worried, and she wouldn't tell him what was wrong.

Perhaps these flowers would cheer her up.

He plucked them carefully and placed them inside his backpack, making sure they wouldn't be crushed against anything on the way home. He would give them to her later tonight, after sparring with his family.

...He hoped that the small gesture would be enough. Vol had always felt distant from other people his age, and didn't date very often. When he did, he gave it his all, but it was never enough. It was as though there was an insurmountable gap, one they could all see but he couldn't, and they would never say what it was. He tried anyway. He always did.

His ears twitched as he heard a noise from behind him.

There was a rabbit caught in the trap. It hadn't been there a minute ago; it must just have gotten unlucky. A twist of fate, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Poor thing.

Vol smiled and shook his head. Accidents happened to everyone. He approached cautiously, trying not to scare it.

Then he untied the knot and set it free.

Everyone deserved a second chance, but not everyone got one. As Vol saw it, the trap had been empty when he first checked it; he might as well leave it empty as he departed. Perhaps it defeated the purpose of a trap if he let its victims go. But now and then, he couldn't help but let compassion get the better of him.

It was the right thing to do, most of the time.

* * *

><p>A small bell jingled as Marcus pushed the little shop's door open. There was a vague scent of pine – but then, what in this town DIDN'T smell like trees and wood – and as he looked inside, he almost immediately decided that it wasn't the kind of store he was looking for. The walls were lined with trinkets and foodstuffs, mostly supplies for either everyday living or for short-term travel – hunting or camping trips, that sort of thing.<p>

The man behind the counter looked up from his book with some surprise, as if he hadn't been expecting any customers. He had unkempt blonde hair, a little longer than what Belinsk would have considered trendy, and at the very back it was pulled into a short artist's ponytail. His shirt was unbuttoned on the front, revealing a worn-looking undershirt beneath. But for all the apathy one would have assumed from his style of fashion, he had some definite muscle tone. Not the bulked-up look of one who wanted to appear intimidating, either; these were tight and wiry, built for effect and coiled like a spring. Marcus thought of it as "military muscle," and it instantly bought the shopkeep a lot of respect in his eyes.

"Hey there, good evening," said the shop's owner. "Anything I can help you with?"

Marcus began to answer, but his attention was caught by a sword hanging on the far wall, resting on a pair of steel pegs. The blade appeared to be forged of gold, or a gold-alloy. It was massive; he estimated it to be somewhere between five and six feet long. But most impressive was the ornate hilt. It was a large sphere with golden spokes radiating out of it, stylized to look like the sun. It had an extra-long handle to accommodate the extra weight, allowing the wielder to swing it two-handed. It looked heavy.

And if it really was made of gold, it had to be utterly useless.

"Actually, I was looking for a blacksmith or armoury," said Marcus. "But from the looks of things, I'm in the wrong place."

The shopkeeper followed his gaze. If he was insulted, he didn't show it; he dog-eared the page he was reading, shut the book, and hopped over the counter.

"I'm sorry to say that I don't sell or repair weapons here. But if you're talking about the sword," he said, reaching up to take it from its mount, "I can tell you with some certainty that it's far more effective than it looks. It's not for sale, but..."

He pulled it down, holding it easily despite its obvious mass. He slid his hand along the blade slowly, carefully caressing it as only an experienced warrior would. "You're a Light Adept, right?" he asked. "I can tell from the fur. For whatever reason, I've noticed that only Venus and Sol Adepts tend to be able to feel what this thing can do. You can hold it if you like." He winked. "If you try to take it out of the store, though, I'll have to pop you one."

Intrigued, Marcus held out a hand to take it. The shopkeeper gave him the sword, point downward, and then stepped away. The moment the handle touched Marcus's palm, he knew this was no mere decoration.

"An enchanted weapon," he said, impressed, "and a powerful one at that. I'm sorry for doubting it."

"Don't worry. If you knew enough to doubt, that means you know more about weapons than most of the people around here. Most of my customers barely notice the sword, and the few folks from outside the town who stop by are most impressed by its size, or by how shiny it is."

"I take it that's why there's no blacksmith in this town?" Marcus asked. "The guy in Saha is on vacation, and when I asked the townspeople around here, they said my best bet would be to check at Matthew's. That'd make you Matthew, right?"

Matthew nodded. "You've got it."

Marcus hesitated. "I have to ask," he said. "Are you _that_ Matthew? That would make this..."

He froze. He was so surprised that he almost dropped the sword, even as he looked at it like it was a pouncing tiger.

"Gods above, this is the Sol Blade!" he said. "And you've got it hanging on a hook in a general store? What the hell's happened to you since the Eclipse?"

Matthew shrugged, taking the blade back with a smirk. "Hey, everyone retires eventually. Can I trust you to keep it quiet, though? I like how peaceful it is in this corner of the world. I'm not afraid of attention, but I worry tourists would ruin the scenery."

"I know the feeling," said Marcus. "I won't tell anyone. You have my word."

"Much appreciated. So," said the legendary adventurer, "what brings you out to Kolima? Like I said, we don't get many visitors. Saha serves most travelers well enough. Are you looking for something specific?"

The truth was, he wasn't. Not anymore. He had been looking for a place to get his gear repaired and tuned-up before heading back for duty in Belinsk. But then again, he hadn't been expecting to meet one of the heroes of the Eclipse – not here, at least. And now that he thought about it, Marcus realized that Kolima probably wouldn't have been included in many soldiers' searches, at least not beyond a trivial glance. If he was going to find a lead, this would be where it would happen.

"You could say that," said Marcus. "It's more of a tradition now than an actual search. Every few months I take time off and travel, asking questions, looking for leads. I don't expect to find anything, not after all these years, but..."

Matthew raised an eyebrow, spinning the Sol Blade in his hands carelessly.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about Queen Sveta's disappearance, would you?" asked Marcus. "It feels silly asking out loud. She's been gone for twenty-one years now, her trail was cold before anyone could even catch it, and she's probably either long-dead or otherwise irretrievable. But the official search was called off way sooner than I was comfortable with, so I started making official enquiries, and I guess it turned into a habit."

"Still hunting for Sveta, huh?" asked Matthew. "You guys seem to be doing fine without a royal family, if you ask me."

"It's the principle of the thing. The Czamaral Clan is a symbol of Morgal. It's less about getting her back, now, than it is about making sure we never stop looking."

Matthew nodded. He turned and put the Sol Blade back on its mount, then went behind the counter once more. "Her sudden disappearance was a shame," he said. "I spoke to her only the day before, too. She was a close friend, back then." Matthew sat in his chair and leaned forward, folding his hands. "Did you ever meet Sveta? You don't look terribly old. You'd have been, what, nine or ten when she was taken?"

Marcus grinned. "I'm flattered, I think. A lot of people actually do tell me I look young for my age. But no, I'm forty-one. I never met Her Majesty, but I was serving in her army when she was taken. The only reason I didn't immediately set out to look for her was that Bilibin declared war, and when that happened I sort of took on some extra responsibilities."

The hero-turned-shopkeep appraised Marcus for a moment. Then he leaned back slowly in his chair.

"Extra responsibilities?" he asked. "I'm starting to suspect that I've heard of you, too, mister...?"

"Commander Marcus, of the newly-formed Knights of Belinsk. At the time of the war, I was busy leading a team of particularly talented Adepts in a series of elaborate guerilla actions against the Bilibin Army. A lot of people unfairly credit me with winning the war." Marcus frowned. "The truth is, even a full team of skilled Sol Adepts wouldn't have been able to save Belinsk. All we did was slow them down until their nation's revolution won the war for us."

"But if you didn't slow them down, they'd have laid siege to a city that was still recovering from a natural disaster," said Matthew, nodding in comprehension. "Yeah, I think you deserve a good amount of the credit. What's this about the Knights of Belinsk, though?"

"Well, Morgal's never really had Adepts in its military," said Marcus. "Suddenly, everyone in the city's an Adept, and nobody really knows how to deal with it. The Knights are an attempt to harness that untapped potential. The scholar Kraden's been helping us experiment, but for the most part, it's nothing more than a group of soldiers trying to make the best of a new situation."

Matthew laughed. "So you saved the city from Bilibin, and now you're hard at work making sure future generations can do the same in your stead? Yeah, I think you deserve the recognition, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I dunno. We'll see," said Marcus with a humble bow. "I'm mostly just training newer soldiers with what little experience I have. The irony is, we call ourselves the Knights, but no one officially has the power to knight anybody anymore. Not since the Queen was taken." He leaned against a wall and shook his head. "It all feels so presumptuous, honestly. We're making all these decisions 'in the name of the Queen,' but how does anyone know what she'd have wanted?"

He put his paw over his eyes. "I don't even know why I'm here looking for her anymore. Hell, if I saw her, I probably wouldn't know it was her."

"If you failed to find her after all these years, then perhaps she merely does not wish to be found."

Marcus jumped at the new voice. He stood up suddenly, shaking the shelf he'd been leaning against. He turned, put out a hand to keep it still, and when he turned back, there was another figure in the room, standing next to the shopkeeper.

She was rather short, as most beastmen tended to be, but you wouldn't know it from the way she stood. Her long, lavender hair fell unrestrained down her back, devoid of grey despite her age. The fur on her face was lightened, and her eyes were slightly wrinkled with wisdom. She was modestly dressed, with sleeves that ran to her wrists and a skirt that fell to her ankles. Her clothing was plain, but she wore it like fine silk, letting it trail elegantly behind her with every gentle step.

Something about her made Marcus stand up straighter. He moved closer to the centre of the room, meeting her intense, green-eyed gaze.

"Commander Marcus," the woman said, "it is an honor to meet you. I am sorry, I overheard your conversation from the other room; I fear you do yourself too little credit. You performed a great service to your people, and for that, I thank you."

Matthew stood nervously, "Hey, uh... Do you think you should, umm... Sorry, we were just talking. I think we were finishing up, if you want to-"

"I only wished to meet the Hero of the Eclipse War for myself," she replied. "I have waited ever so long for the opportunity."

Marcus smiled. He bowed and took her hand, kissing her knuckle as was the polite greeting in Belinsk. At the same time, he noticed the ring on her third finger; he identified it as a wedding ring, a Kalay tradition that was slowly making its way across the rest of the continent. This woman was Matthew's wife? No wonder she could cow him so easily.

A marriage between a human and a beastkin. Marcus felt a little uneasy about that, not because there was anything explicitly wrong with it, but because... well, it reminded him of stories of Sanan slavery. Looking at this pair, it was obvious that they treated each other as equals, but if he had heard elsewhere of a man with a beastkin wife, he would have assumed the worst.

He kept his opinions to himself. If anything, he was most disappointed that she was married at all. Had she been single, he'd have gone after her in a second.

"Pleasure meeting both of you," said Marcus. "I should probably pick up some supplies for the trip home while I'm here, actually." He noticed some packaged beef jerky and dried lizard on the bottom shelf, and knelt to examine it.

Matthew's wife glided up next to him, and Marcus looked up at her. She wasn't paying attention to him, however; she was reaching up to the Sol Blade on its mount. She took it down just as easily as Matthew had earlier, and her gaze traced up and down its length.

"If you found Queen Sveta," said the woman, "how would it go in your mind? Surely you have fantasized about an eventual meeting."

"Of course." Marcus had been searching on-and-off for two decades now. Earlier, his fantasies had been more... risque. If the meeting was in his imagination, after all, he saw nothing wrong with the meeting going as positively as it ever could. Now, though, his fantasy was more modest. "I'd save her from her captors, either alone or with my team. She'd thank us, apologize unnecessarily for her absence – I heard she was just that kind of person – and we'd take her back to her throne."

She tested the edge of the blade. "Would you be knighted?" she asked.

Marcus picked up a good-sized package. "Well, I wouldn't mind."

Then he felt the blade's cold steel on his shoulder and he froze instinctively.

The sword came up, and he carefully watched its shadow for signs of sudden motion, but when it came back down it was to gently touch his other shoulder. Even so, he chided himself for letting his guard down.

"Rise, Sir Marcus," she said before hanging the Sol Blade once more on the wall. "That is what she would say, is it not?"

Marcus stood uneasily. "Yeah, uh... sure," he said.

Matthew sat on his chair, face deep in his palm. He said nothing. His wife appeared to be deep in thought, but her expression was unreadable. She simply folded her hands neatly and met Marcus's gaze with confidence.

"...I should go," said Marcus. He turned to leave. Then he stopped himself, realizing that he hadn't yet paid for the trail rations he was holding. He reached for his coin pouch.

"Don't worry about it!" shouted Matthew, waving it away with a defeated look on his face. "Consider it a gift to Sir Marcus, Hero of the Eclipse War!"

"No, I couldn't possibly-"

"Seeya, Marcus!" interrupted Matthew, waving him away more insistently. "Hope you find that queen you've been searching for! Good luck with that!"

"Yeah, I, uh..." Marcus didn't know how to respond. So he just waved thankfully and stepped out the door.

As it shut behind him, he walked stiffly away from the store, reflecting on what a uniquely awkward experience that had been. He'd met several of the heroes who helped stop the Eclipse before, and those had all been pleasant experiences. King Amiti, and of course the famous Karis of Kalay, were more than accommodating on the rare occasion that he searched as far south as Ayuthay. It had never struck him as odd that they never mentioned Matthew's fate, but now perhaps he understood why; somehow, the man had gotten trapped in a relationship with a terrifying woman that none of the others wanted anything to do with.

"Excuse me," came a voice from above.

Marcus looked up and saw what appeared to be a very, very tall beastman passing by. Marcus was about 5'8", and he was on the tall end of the scale for male beastmen; the fact that this fellow was at least a head taller than him was very startling.

He watched the tall one hurry toward the store Marcus had just left, and it clicked into place. The other fellow must have been half-human. Matthew was similarly tall, but it hadn't seemed significant for someone without fur to be that big. The boy must have gotten his height and build from his father, and the rest from his mother.

Stuffing the food packet into his pouch, Marcus set off toward the inn to rent a room; he planned to stow his belongings before going directly to the tavern. He set aside his prior concerns as much as he could in preparation for one last night of relaxation before work. Yet standing in the shadow of Matthew's boy had reminded him strongly of standing in Belinsk's Czamaral Square, looking up at the statue of King Volechek.

* * *

><p>"You're such a hypocrite."<p>

"I know not what you are talking about," said Sveta.

Matthew threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Oh, just years and years of 'please do not risk our anonymity,'" he said. "Why is it that I get in trouble for calling my daughter 'princess,' but when a hero of Morgal shows up, it's cool for you to literally _knight_ him?"

"Matthew, I have been hoping to meet this man since the day I left the throne behind," she said. It was true, too; Matthew remembered her asking her aide if she could simply say goodbye to the hero she owed so much to. It had been a risk, even then. "He searches for me still. It pains me to send him away empty-handed. He deserves better."

Matthew stood. "Maybe. But so do you. So does our family." He rounded the counter and embraced her. "I love you to pieces, kittydog. You know that. But I'm not sure how to proceed here. One minute you're telling me that we can't risk what we've got, the next you're pining for your throne, telling me you wish you could lead your people again."

"I would do both if I could," replied Sveta. "But that is just not possible, and given the choice, my family comes first. I took a risk with Sir Marcus, yes. I consider that a favor, though, to one who protected my people when I could not."

"Look, we don't _know_ it's not possible. We could try it. We could work out some kind of arrangement if we tried, I know we could." Matthew brushed his wife's hair away from her face. Her ear twitched as he did so, but she looked him unwaveringly in the eyes. "Maybe it'd take some time for your people to get used to, but they would. They'd have to. You're their queen."

Sveta turned away, gently pushing Matthew's hand back. "You saw how Marcus reacted when he saw my ring. You know what they would think of our relationship."

Matthew shook his head. "Could've been a mistake. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he was just disappointed to see that you were married. Guy had a thing for you, I'd bet. Until you surprised him with the sword."

She folded her arms. "We... we could talk to him, maybe. Him specifically. If he had been in the castle that day, he would be in on our secret anyway. Perhaps we could trust Marcus to be another confidante now that Bentley is gone."

But Matthew shook his head at that. "Maybe, but that's not what I'm talking about. The way I see it, we have two options. The first is that we continue living the way we have. Don't get me wrong, I love our kids, I love our home. I'm fine with what we've got here. But the second is that we make a plan to get you back to Belinsk. We can't go halfway in either direction, because if we do, then we run the risk of things getting out of hand. If you take back the throne, it needs to happen on our terms, and the more people who know your secret, the less likely it is that we'll have any control over what happens."

At that moment, the door opened again. Matthew and Sveta jumped in surprise, but relaxed when they saw that the newcomer was only Vol, returning from his hunting and gathering trip. He had a broad smile on his face, which fell when he sensed his parents' moods.

"We can discuss this later," said Sveta. "My position on the matter stands." She turned and headed for the back room again, where she had been sorting and organizing extra stock before Marcus had arrived.

"This could be our chance! Look, we could go after him right now," said Matthew. "You're right, maybe we can trust the guy, and if we've got him on our side, we're more likely to have the peoples' support! But if we're going to move, we have to make a decision, sink or swim-"

"We will make no move. My decision stands," said Sveta. She closed the backroom door behind her. The rusted, rarely-used hinges creaked in protest.

Vol shuffled his feet uneasily.

"...What did I miss?" he asked.

Matthew waved his hand. "A guy came by, a bit of a military hero. Mom knighted him, though I don't think he realized it."

Vol turned and looked at the door as if he could see the man far on the other side of it. "You didn't... I mean, we're not...?"

"No," said Matthew, "no one knows yet. Your mother and I were just... talking. You know how she worries about her kingdom, probably even better than I do. I was trying to talk about ways to make it easier on her."

Vol nodded, but didn't ask questions. He slipped his backpack off his shoulders, carefully opening it to take out the supplies he had collected. He still wore his travel gear, a short-sleeved jacket with a chain shirt underneath in case of emergencies, and loose slacks to avoid restricting his movement in combat. Like his mother, he eschewed footwear.

"Snares didn't do so well?" asked Matthew as his son brought out what he had collected; mostly herbs, luckily enough of the fancy stuff to finally fill the tavern owner's order combined with the day's shipment of mutton and ale.

Vol rubbed his furred upper-arm, and his long ears twitched. "Not really," he said. The boy was a poor liar; even when he was technically honest, Matthew usually knew when he was hiding something.

Of course, Matthew was aware that his son tended to set an alarming number of snared animals free. Though it was occasionally harmful to the store's stocks, he admired the boy's idealistic compassion. The family was far from any sort of financial danger, and Matthew tended to buy extra stuff from traders in anticipation of "failed snares."

"That's alright. This is more than enough," he said. "What are the flowers for?"

"For Meg."

"Ah, lucky girl."

"I'll give them to her later. Are we gonna do some sparring practice when Em gets back?"

Matthew glanced at the backroom door, closed as it so rarely was. "I think maybe we should plan to do that later," he said. "Just... give it some time, I guess."

Vol frowned, and his ears drooped. He didn't love sparring; he just understood the reason that it was delayed. He hated when his parents fought.

Matthew clasped his son on the shoulder, though, and tried to give him an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about it. Go visit your girlfriend or something in the meantime. I'll get this stuff sorted out, and we can do some training after dinner, maybe."

Vol smiled and nodded.

He opened the door, but before he could leave, a much smaller form stumbled in.

"Hey, guys!" said Emily, panting from what was apparently a long sprint. "Lost track of time. Sorry I'm late."

"You're not," said Vol before stepping outside. "Sparring's delayed. Mom and Dad had a fight."

"We _did not_ have a fight," said Matthew. "We had, uh... a continuation to a longstanding disagreement. Nothing you need to worry about."

Vol nodded. He waved goodbye to his father and sister, and then he stepped out, flowers in hand, and shut the door behind him.

Emily slumped against the closed door. "You mean I ran all this way for nothing? Gods, I thought I was gonna get in crap again for missing practice."

Her sharp teeth showed as she panted heavily, the only nonhuman part of her face aside from the long, fur-tipped ears. She took after her father's side in the hair department; it was blonde and unruly, though she went to some effort to keep it at least somewhat in check. It barely came down to her shoulders, and she styled it outward at the end to make it appear more feminine. But ironically, in a family where the men tended to grow abnormally long hair, Emily couldn't seem to grow hers out no matter how hard she tried.

She brushed some fluff off of her green tunic and sauntered into the middle of the room. Her boots tracked dirt onto the floor; Matthew clicked his tongue, knowing he'd have to clean it up later.

"Oh, hey, is the tavern shipment ready?" asked Emily. "He was asking after it. Nothing urgent, he said, but my afternoon's suddenly free."

"Yeah, actually, Vol just collected the last of it," said Matthew.

"Cool, I'll take it over," said Emily.

"Really?"

"Sure."

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "You're just looking for a reason to spend the afternoon at the tavern, aren't you?"

"Maybe," said his daughter with a wink and a grin. "But hey, if we're putting off sparring practice until later, I've got time to kill."

"Did you weed the garden like I asked you?"

Emily's smile vanished. "...No."

Matthew sighed. "That's fine. Just make sure it gets done before dinner, alright?"

"Yeah... fine."

"Hey, Emily?" said Matthew, moving forward to take his daughter's hand. "Thanks. I know sometimes your Mom and I are hard on you, but... I want you to know that everything we do, we do because we really think it's in your best interests, okay?"

Emily shrugged. "Okay, cool. Thanks."

"Even if you disagree about whether it's the right thing," Matthew continued, "I hope you understand that we only do it because we want what's best. Okay?"

"Yeah, great," said Emily, more insistent this time. "Thanks. I'm gonna go get the wagon to load the stuff on, okay?"

Matthew pursed his lips. She was ignoring him, as usual. She didn't understand. How could she? It wasn't her fault that her parents wouldn't tell her of her lineage. The girl deserved to know. But he couldn't be the one to tell her.

So instead, he just patted her on the shoulder and nodded. "Thanks. I love you, princess."

She nodded, glanced at the door quickly – probably to make sure none of her friends were around to hear – and then said, "I love you too, Daddy."

Emily left for their home so she could bring their wagon to the store area. But before Matthew started collecting everything for the tavern order, he took the Sol Blade down from its mount for the third time that day.

How would Emily have turned out differently if she'd had an upbringing like her father's? If her parents were divorced, if she'd lived with her father and her best friend's father, practicing swordsmanship and fieldcraft from dusk til dawn? Or more likely, what would she have been like with her mother's upbringing? Harsh training for social etiquette and political manoeuvring, combined with tight restrictions on what a young lady could and could not do?

Matthew smiled. Emily would have learned to speak more carefully, or risk a whipping. She'd actually worry about offending people once in a while. And eventually, she'd have found a way to rebel, running away from home to seek her own fate, learning to handle herself in the wilderness. Until the guilt overcame her, of course, and she returned home to tolerate her duties once more for as long as she could.

He hung the sword back in its place.

His daughter was the true Princess of Morgal, and she reminded him very strongly of her predecessor indeed.

* * *

><p><em>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<em>

_Commander Shepard returns! For those of you who didn't read the short-lived Extras chapter (since I took it down within about a week of posting it), Marcus is a bit of a returning character. I've fleshed him out a bit beyond his original iteration – his whole chapter was literally a huge Mass Effect reference – but I do so love to throw in the occasional reference here and there._

_I'd very much appreciate some feedback when it comes to characterization. I've done original characters before (obviously, as I've done stuff that isn't fanfiction as well...) but I have a delicate balancing act in a few places here; I'm trying to make sure that Emily comes off as a teenage socialite, but I also hope her personality doesn't annoy people overmuch. One of the things I want to work on with this story is noticeable character arcs, so things will change later on. But if anything bugs you too much, please let me know! What happens near the end doesn't matter if no one will slog through the beginning._

_How about the description? Am I going too far with the visual details? Not far enough? I generally left it hanging in DoJ, but that was back when everyone already knew what the characters looked like. Character imagery tends to be mutable in my head anyway, so I like to leave it open to interpretation. I did get feedback last chapter that I needed some more description, so I tried working on that here. Did it work, or should I try something different next time?_

_Thanks, everybody! Time for a few review responses. Usually I don't do them all, but... meh. I'm excited about this story, so sue me._

"_Looking forward to reading"_: I do plan to use the Apollo Lens energy burst as a plot element, but the Dark Dawn party will age at the normal rate. Thanks for mentioning it though, and thanks for all the kind words!

_godofmadness43: And now you know how it happened! XD_

_Waypoint: I'm a big fan of the Redwall series in general, and if this story has that sort of feel to it, then I'm very satisfied._

_Anon Dude: You are a very odd individual!_

_Avatar of Wurms: I love Garoh too, and I think it's a damn shame that it had zero spotlight in Dark Dawn! Rest assured, it's still standing, and it may or may not have significant plot involvement in this story. (Hint: It does.)_

_kit fisto68: Okay!_

_mystery box: If it's in the same universe as Drops of Jupiter, then yes, Vol and Emily will be Matthew and Sveta's kids every time. Considering that most of my Golden Sun fiction is likely to be in the same universe, the third generation will probably always be the same. If I do any weird alternate universe stuff, I might change their kids, but for now I want to keep the characters consistent._

_Glacierstar: Feedback noted! Description isn't my forte, but I think I did an okay job. If you think it needs more, I can provide more._


	3. Letting Loose

**Golden Sun belongs to Nintendo and Camelot, not me. Support them if you like the series! I just write fanstuff. And if you feel like borrowing any of my original ideas, please, go right ahead.**

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><p>Kolima was a small town, and so its tavern only ever drew large crowds when there was something to celebrate. Aside from holidays and other special occasions, the party rarely gained enough momentum to sustain itself beyond the regulars who came by nearly every night to swap stories and gossip.<p>

The presence of a war hero – particularly THIS war hero – changed that.

"So there we were, laying low as the Bilibin army marched by," continued Marcus, surrounded by rapt listeners and empty mugs. "All their guys were grabbing their bellies, running off to the bushes every five minutes. They thought it was a flu sweeping through the camp. Like hell it was, though – you ever seen what happens when you put Blightroot powder in somebody's water? You get one seriously delayed invading army, that's what!"

A chorus of laughter burst forth from the crowd, followed by clapping and cheering. The barman poured a fresh round of beer, and a great number of patrons swept up the new mugs and tossed their coins on the counter before returning to the fun. More than one of the full mugs ended up in front of Marcus as a tribute. He barely seemed to notice, though he had been more than appreciative of the drinks his audience had purchased for him while he was still sober.

"Anyway." He drained his glass and put it with the other empties. "I saw a few of their siege engines pulling up the rear. Big, complex machines. Scary, too. They used some kinda high-tech systems, like dark-and-dreary versions of the stuff Ayuthay's been putting out, so to get them going the Bilibiners needed engineers who'd been trained on them. So I signalled my team to get ready, then you know what I did?"

The audience leaned in expectantly. Marcus left them hanging, reaching for a new mug and sipping gently, letting the tension hang in the air.

He put the mug down. "I walked right up to him," he said quietly, forcing them to hush up to hear. "I tapped him on the shoulder." Then, without warning, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood, flinging his arms out. "I said to him, 'You're workin' too hard!' and BAM!" He slammed his mug on the table, spilling beer everywhere and forcing the people in the splash zone to scramble out of the way. "That was when we hit 'em, whole volleys of arrows coming out of nowhere, Morgal's best swordsmen dashing in faster than the eye could follow-"

"How'd you get in without them seeing you?" asked a listener. "They can't have left their fancy machines undefended!"

Marcus grinned. "You ever see a Light Adept in action?" he said. "No? Well, see, we've got plenty of Light Adepts out in Belinsk, and even they don't know half of what Sol Psynergy's capable of. But our military got some of it figured out just in time to send out some troops. We had like _ten guys._ They had an army. And we won!"

"Show us!" shouted someone in the crowd.

"Huh? Whazzat?" slurred Marcus, playing up the showmanship. "You want a demonstration?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh, come on, no you don't..."

"Yeah!" came the cry. "Show us!"

Marcus grinned. "Alright," he said, picking up a mug. "Here goes!"

Without hesitation, he tossed the mug into empty air. It upended itself along the way, and a splash of frothy liquid began to fly out of the container.

Then Marcus made a tight fist, squeezing and grunting with exertion as if he was trying to crush a diamond.

The few alchemically-sensitive people in the room – other Adepts, but from the four natural elements, like the Mars Adept blacksmith, or the Mercury Adept doctor – gasped in amazement as they felt power pour out of the Knight Commander. The rest of the crowd gasped in shock.

The mug, and the beer inside it, had stopped moving completely. It was like a snapshot, a snippet of action captured by a photograph.

Before anyone got too curious and tried to interfere, Marcus rushed over and positioned himself in its path. He opened his mouth, snapped his fingers, and the mug unfroze.

A small amount of the beer actually made it to his mouth. Then the mug itself hit him in the face. He staggered back and, his balance inhibited by Gods-knew-how-much alcohol, fell over. But on the way down, he threw out his fist again and the mug stopped in time once more. He collected himself, seized it by the handle, and unfroze it. Then he stood and took a bow.

The crowd went wild.

And one notable Venus Adept, watching from the back room as she unpacked her delivery, decided that she absolutely had to know more.

* * *

><p>"'Kay, I'm done," said Emily, peeking around the doorframe separating the stock room from the common area. "What's all the commotion out here? Who's the fuzzy dude?"<p>

The bartender looked up from the dishes he was washing, and inclined his head toward the bright-furred Commander sitting alone, the excitement by now having died down. "Him? That's Marcus, the war hero who saved Belinsk when Bilibin invaded."

"An outsider?" Emily said hopefully, a slow smile coming to her face. "I mean, I kind of assumed, since I hadn't seen him around... but from Belinsk itself? And that psynergy earlier! I felt that from all the way in the back!"

"Yeah, it was all sorts of impressive. I mean, I didn't feel a thing, but..."

"I'm gonna go talk to him," said Emily. "I know you won't sell _me_ alcohol, but what if I'm buying it for someone else?"

The barman frowned. "Didn't you say you had to be going after you were done unpacking? Something about chores, and dinner?"

"Oh, pfff! Plenty of time," she replied. "Weeding the garden takes like, two seconds for me, and I can be a little late for dinner, no problem."

The bartender did not appear convinced. "At any rate, while I appreciate all the business Mr. Marcus has brought me, he's been drinking an awful lot. Any more and I'd worry for his health. So if you really must go talk to him, I don't think you should come bearing gifts."

Emily shrugged. "If you say so. Anyway, I left the list of inventory on the wagon, if you feel like checking it."

"Well, I trust you and your father, but I guess I might as well," said the bartender. "Just to make sure everything's in order."

She stepped aside, and he slipped past into the back room.

Emily waited until he was gone, then picked up a clean mug, filled it with ale, and then fished into her purse for some coins. She put a small pile – slightly more than what the drink cost – on the counter, and then took the drink as she walked to her quarry. Marcus didn't look to her like he was going to die of alcohol poisoning any time soon; it made no sense for the bartender to refuse her purchase. And anyway, it technically wasn't stealing since she paid for it. She even included a tip. Or a bribe.

As she approached Marcus, he appeared to be deep in thought, staring down into a nearly-empty mug.

He downed the last drops, and with a sigh, said, "I'm Commander Marcus, and this is my favorite drink of the evening. What's it called?"

Emily glanced at the single keg of ale that all the drinks were drawn from. "I don't know the name," she replied, though he wasn't speaking specifically to her. "I'm pretty sure it's the same thing you've been drinking all night, though."

"Oh," said Marcus with more than a little disappointment.

"More where that came from!" interjected Emily, plopping the new mug on the table in front of him. "I'm sorry, I know people have been buying you drinks all afternoon. But I missed the main event, and I'm dying to ask you some questions, too. We get so few visitors in Kolima, you know? I love hearing about the outside world."

"Hey, I got no problem with more drinks. Feel kinda bad, I'm way more drunk than I should be this early..." His eyes wandered along Emily's face, and lingered on her ears. "You're Matthew's girl, aren't you?"

"How'd you know? You met him?"

"I met your Mom, too," said Marcus. "Don't think I've ever seen a human-beastman couple before. Interesting mix of features on you, if you don't mind me saying. The ears, the teeth... You're like... an elf-shark." He shook his head. "No offence, of course. It's pretty neat."

Emily laughed. "An elf-shark? That's weirdly badass. No offence taken whatsoever." She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms behind her head. "Yeah, it's funny how some features stand out to people. My brother, he just looks like a really tall beastman, but with no pawpads. Humans usually can't even tell he's a hybrid, but beastmen get really freaked out when they see his palms."

"I think I saw him on the way out of your Dad's store, actually," replied Marcus. "I'd met your parents by that point, though, so I connected the dots easily enough."

"What brought you to my Dad's place? Tourism?"

Marcus shook his head. "I didn't even know for sure it was him until he told me. I was just looking for... eh, nevermind. Not important."

"Hey, if you weren't here to meet one of the Heroes of the Eclipse, then why even come to Kolima? Don't get me wrong, it's an alright city. But there's nothing to do here. What's your business? Is it that sort of 'I'd-tell-you-but-I'd-have-to-kill-you' thing?"

"Hah! Not even close," said Marcus. He paused, taking up the mug Emily had brought for him and considering it carefully before taking a long drink. He put it down half-empty. "I was looking for the Queen of Morgal."

"The _Queen?_" asked Emily, stifling a laugh. "Why the hell would the Queen of Morgal be all the way out here? And didn't you guys lose her like, twenty-odd years ago?"

"Twenty-one. But yes," admitted Marcus, "it seems very unlikely for her to be here. It's just a tradition I've gotten into, looking for our missing monarch every chance I get." He hiccuped. "Honestly? Probably gonna give up after this one. I get so many weird looks when people hear that I'm still searching after two decades."

He paused grimly, rotating his mug in place on the table with one hand. "She's probably long-dead. She was kidnapped without so much as a ransom note. And even if she's still alive, it's like your mother said... for whatever reason, she probably doesn't want to be found. Saddest thing is, even if I walked up to Her Majesty and spoke to her I probably wouldn't know who she was. I never met her. All I can do is ask around and hope somebody's got a lead."

Emily frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. I wish I could help you." An odd whim came to her mind, and she suddenly laughed. "You should've formed an adventuring party, with Adepts across the spectrum! Y'know, like my Dad and Grandfather did. Grab a Jupiter Adept, and go nuts_._ Read every mind in the world one-by-one until you find the Queen, or find her killer!" She pounded a fist into her hand. "Sweet revenge!"

Marcus sank into his chair thoughtfully. "I guess I could have gone and asked Ivan for help, now that you mention it," he said. "It probably would have made the search go a lot more smoothly."

"You know Ivan, too?"

"What? No," said Marcus, raising an eyebrow. "But Sheba lives way out west, and Ivan's the only other mind reader I know of. I wouldn't go in assuming he'd help, but-"

"Why does it have to be one of them?" asked Emily. "You just need a mind reader. I know Jupiters are pretty rare, but they aren't _that_ rare."

"...Yeah, but you need more than just any old Jupiter Adept," muttered Marcus. "According to Kraden the Scholar, you aren't going to find mind readers outside Anemos descendants – Ivan and Sheba – or our own Czamaral clan. It's a really, really rare talent."

"Dude, like, every Jupiter I know is a mind reader!" protested Emily.

"That's because your grandparents are Isaac and Jenna of Vale," said Marcus, "so I'm not surprised that the only Jupiter Adepts you know are Ivan and Sheba."

"I know other Jupiter Adepts, too! Mind-readers, I mean!"

Marcus picked up his mug. "That means either they're faking it, and you're incredibly gullible, or..." He snorted a laugh and shook his head, dismissing the thought. Then he leaned back carelessly and tipped the last of his drink into his throat, nearly falling over in the process.

But Emily didn't notice. She was lost in thought. _I'm not guillible, am I?_ she wondered. _But even so, they've definitely read each other. It happens all the time. He must be wrong, but... what if he isn't?_

She blinked, Marcus' earlier words hitting her suddenly. She said, "what was that my Mom told you again?"

"Huh? When?"

"You said you met her. She said something about the Queen?"

"Oh, right. She said, and I quote, 'Perhaps she does not wish to be found.'" Marcus considered this for a moment. "Something like that. That wasn't actually a direct quote. I lied. I don't remember her exact words. But y'know, your mother has a really weird way of speaking. Very proper. No offense."

"None taken," Emily said again. But she was barely paying attention. Her mother and brother were both talented mind-readers. She'd seen it happen often enough that they couldn't be faking it... could they? And even if they weren't, Marcus could have just been mistaken. But he said he'd heard from Kraden himself. If anyone knew what they were talking about, it was the famous Scholar.

She glanced back at the bar and saw that the tavern owner had returned. Shame; she'd had the thought that maybe another round would loosen Marcus's tongue a little more. Then again, considering the veritable sea of empty mugs separating them, the Commander's tongue probably wasn't getting any looser.

"Can you tell me more about the Queen?" asked Emily. "Just curious. We don't hear much from the outside, here in Kolima. Not even about our own royal family."

"Really?" Marcus blustered. "I mean, yeah, she disappeared before you were born, probably. How old are you again?"

"Sixteen."

"Only? Well, damn." He blushed, cleared his throat, shook his head. "Forget I said that. Anyway, Queen Sveta. What d'you want to know?"

Emily winced at the name. _Really?_ "Everything," she said. "What she looked like, mannerisms, anything that might make her stand out. What was special about her? Other than being royalty, I mean."

Marcus frowned. "Well, like I said, I never met her. There's a painting of the late King Volechek in the castle, though, and I assume his sister would look similar. His fur's a sort of... light purpleish. There's a word for it-"

"Lavender?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Mannerisms... well, she's a noble. But she was also infamous for sneaking out of the castle all the time, so she probably had a bit of a free-spirited streak, I guess. Taught herself how to fight, too. Beat up a dragon once."

_Free-spirited?_ thought Emily. _That doesn't sound like Mom at all._ But then again, if it was all true, then this woman had technically run away from home and never gone back. Not to mention that she'd apparently decided to hide her daughter's birthright from her for sixteen years.

"Probably the biggest thing," said Marcus, "is the fact that she's a Jupiter Adept. Before the Eclipse, the Czamarals were the only beastmen in the world with any alchemical talent. Everyone who was in Belinsk when Luna Tower fell became a Light Adept, but children born after that are not. So if you find a beastman who's an Adept, but is not a Light Adept, then that's her, almost definitely."

"You're joking," she said. "It can't be that clear-cut. Like, maybe... I dunno, didn't King Eoleo gain his powers after being hit with a psynergy stone or something? There's gotta be some other way-"

"Hell, I dunno. I've given up," he said with a shrug. "I've been looking for this lady for twenty-one years, and y'know what?" He smacked the table with his hand, and shouted suddenly. "Screw it! Screw it. She doesn't wanna be found, that _bitchdog_ can go-"

"Wait, just-"

"Nope!" shouted Marcus. "I'm sick of waiting and waiting for our stupid royal family to come back! Y'hear that, _Your Majesty?!_ We can take care of ourselves!" He hiccuped again. "You want people to like you again? Then come to _us!_ We're done! I'm done." His head rolled back against his chair. "Gods, I'm drunk. What time is it?"

Emily looked away. "It's dinnertime," she said absently. Then her ears twitched. "Right, dinnertime. I should really be going. I have chores to do. And... I guess I have something to look into, as well."

She got out of her chair and took several long strides toward the exit. Then she hesitated, turned, and walked back to Marcus.

"Thank you for your time. You've done more than you know," she said. Her eyes darted around, scanning the bar's patrons. No one seemed to be paying much attention, which was odd, considering the Commander's sudden outburst...

She narrowed her eyes. Could it be that they were _deliberately_ ignoring the conversation? That they were pretending not to notice? All these people, living alongside a woman who might have been the Queen of Morgal! For over two decades! They had to know! Why had they kept silent?

The bartender. He'd refused her request to buy the Commander a drink. Had he known, too? Was he trying to keep Emily from speaking to the one man who would tell her the truth?

She growled deep in her throat. This man, Commander Marcus, had saved the country – _MY country,_ she hissed at herself – and despite all his efforts, he'd been turned back by the very woman he'd been searching for. He deserved a reward.

Emily leaned in and, in a low voice, whispered, "I know you said you're giving up, but... I might have a lead for you. How long are you staying in Kolima?"

"Leaving tomorrow morning. Early, if my hangover isn't too bad."

"Can you delay it at all? Even until noon?"

"Lady, you're asking nicely, and I would totally agree to stay, but I'm so smashed that I can damn-near guarantee you that I'll wake up with no memory of this entire conversation."

Emily cursed. "I'll try to be back later tonight, then. Don't get your hopes up, but... just, don't give up yet. Thanks again." She set off again toward the door, quaking silently with every step.

"See you later," said Marcus. He cast a look over his sea of empty mugs and quietly added, "assuming I'm still conscious."

* * *

><p>Dinner was uneventful. Little was said, and everyone in the family seemed to sit beneath their own personal rainclouds.<p>

His parents, Vol could understand. Their earlier conflict was just part of a larger pattern; Matthew was troubled by Sveta's flip-flopping attitude toward the family secret, and Sveta was frustrated by her own inability to find a solution that satisfied all of her needs. The "knighting" today opened old wounds, and pretending it hadn't happened would just let it fester.

But they remained quiet. The pain of addressing it could be greater than the pain of letting it sit. And whatever they did, it had to be done behind closed doors; this was not for Emily's eyes.

And she had her own issues. Glancing over at her as he collected the dinner dishes, Vol wondered what had happened to her since he saw her last. At their father's shop, she'd been chipper and carefree. But looking at her at the dinner table... when he realized that he'd never seen her in a worse mood, it really said something.

Her anger tended to be indignant, or even impotent. Her current mood, however, was much, much darker. It was like contrasting a child with a popped balloon to the sole survivor of a military atrocity. The main difference was that when she was mad, she usually made sure everyone knew it, and often tried to spread it around. Now she wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. Her mouth hid a scowl just out of sight. Amusement seemed to vanish into her like it had been thrown into a deep chasm. Vol refused to give into the urge to read her, to see what plagued her, but even without focusing on his psynergy he could feel flickers of the turmoil in her head.

He suspected it could have been worse, too. She'd taken her rage out on the weeds in the garden just before dinner; from the amount of energy she put into ripping them from the earth, she had a lot of stress to work off.

Vol's own issue hadn't been worth mentioning to the family, so he didn't. It was relatively minor, or so he constantly reminded himself. _Big deal,_ he told himself. _You'll get over it._ It still hurt like a punch in the gut.

It wouldn't do to dwell on it. He forced the memory out of his mind. His family had more important things to worry about than... than his personal problems.

"Maybe we should leave the bulk of the cleanup for later?" he announced suddenly. The rest of the family seemed to snap out of their trouble-bubbles and notice him for the first time. "I think we all need to work off some stress."

Matthew smiled. "I think that's a good plan," he said. "You and your mother can go on ahead, while Emily and I grab our practice weapons. I'll get yours too, and bring it out to you."

That suited Vol just fine. They split off with barely another word, Sveta and Vol heading for the small clearing on Kolima's outskirts that they'd used for combat training for years.

When they arrived, Sveta finally broke the aggravating silence.

"Vol," she said softly, "are you happy here?"

The question caught him off-guard. But he slowly nodded. "Yeah. I mean, Em and I have lived here our whole lives. I think we're happy enough. Why?"

Sveta looked up at the patch of blue sky peeking through the treetops of the clearing. She closed her eyes. "No reason," she said. Then she sighed, and opened her eyes. "Alright, yes, there is a reason. The meeting with the Commander today reminded me that I have been neglecting my duties for over two decades. I know nothing of Morgal's condition, but until now, I have been content merely keeping the family stable."

Vol nodded, and continued speaking as he walked to a nearby tree and began doing pre-workout stretches against it. "What changed?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Sveta, following suit against a different tree. "Technically. But Sir Marcus prompted me to remember that there are still people who mourn the loss of the Czamaral Clan. I was born with certain responsibilities, and it would not be inaccurate to say that I regret failing to fulfill them."

"You didn't fail a thing. You set Belinsk up nicely to rule without you-"

"But in principle, Vol, I still abandoned them," Sveta continued. "Or at least, it feels that way. I would not give up our family life for a 'principle,' though. You have no need to worry."

Vol stopped stretching. "Mom..." He took a moment to find his words, then approached her. "Meg broke up with me today."

Sveta blinked. She stepped away from her tree, then hugged her son. "I am sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"Officially? Nothing. She didn't say what the problem was."

Eyes full of empathy, Sveta shook her head. "I did not ask what she _said._"

She knew her son too well. One of Volechek's cardinal rules – one he made and kept entirely of his own volition – was that he would never read a mind without permission. To pry into a person's secrets like that... the thought was horrifying. And yet on this occasion, he hadn't been able to resist. Meg wasn't an Adept, and thus she had no idea it was happening.

All it did was confirm a suspicion he'd held for a long time.

"...It's the beastman thing," he admitted. "She liked my personality, and I treated her properly, but I'm too different. In her mind, associating herself with me sets her apart from everyone else. She's afraid of being excluded."

"What? That is awful! She should-"

"It's valid. I don't think people hate me, or fear me or anything, but... I stand out, yeah." Vol shrugged. "I can live with it, and it doesn't impede me most of the time. I think it'll fade away eventually. But my point is, I'm not bound to this town. If your decision is to stay here, don't do it for my benefit." He smirked. "You know as well as I do that my sister wouldn't have a problem with it. We're both old enough to cope with a little change in scenery, and from the sound of it, you still have a lot of goodwill in Belinsk. If you were ever going to go back, now's your chance."

Sveta frowned, but nodded. "I appreciate the kind words. Neither of you are accustomed to royal life, however. And there are... other reasons, as you well know, that I cannot return to Belinsk." She shivered with half-remembered trauma. "I doubt anything will transpire, and your father was right – if we were to move to retake the throne, it would take planning and preparation to ensure safely."

"But nothing will happen if we stay idle," said Vol sternly. "This is something you want. I can tell. At the very least, there are some steps we can take toward it that won't put us in any danger."

Sveta pondered this for a moment, and a sudden sharpness entered her expression. A small smile formed. "Perhaps there are," she said. "Sir Marcus is still in town. He could be our greatest ally in this. I will send Matthew to retrieve him tonight, and we will judge whether or not he can be trusted before we plan any further."

Vol's ears flicked nervously. "So... so, is this happening? Are we going to take the throne back?"

"Likely not," said Sveta. She bit her lip. "But the possibility remains. It would be useful to have an ally in Belinsk's government anyway, and Sir Marcus would serve that purpose admirably."

"What do I tell Emily?" asked Volechek.

"Nothing. Not until we have made a decision."

Vol nodded. "Got it."

"Volechek, there is one more thing," said Sveta, straightening herself. "Belinsk sits next to the ocean. There is wind, great torrents of it."

He winced. "Right. That puts a bit of a hole in the plan-"

"Use your psynergy. Summon wind," ordered his mother.

"What? But-"

"I need to learn to cope with it. Summon wind."

Vol looked at her, then hesitantly took several steps back. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "I don't know-"

She glared at him, and he made no more protest. She stood with her back to the tree she'd been stretching against, and folded her arms, waiting.

Vol licked his lips anxiously. "I'm not very good at this," he said. He'd barely practised with wind at all, not at any point in his life, not like he'd practised his lightning-

"I am ready," said Sveta. "Go."

Focusing on something hidden deep within himself, Volechek tapped into his power. The rhythm of the air, the delicate dance of the building blocks of existence, all became clear to him. With a thought, he knew he could summon a powerful electrical discharge; he had done so before on many occasions. The same power, after a fashion, allowed him to read minds and speak with the dead. But he wasn't aiming to do any of those.

It looked so simple, ordering the air into motion. It felt like he should be able to do it naturally, but... he was so clumsy. It was like writing the alphabet, with a pen attached to a twenty-foot pole. At least he didn't need to be precise. Just a little gust, aimed nowhere in particular.

He poured his power into it, and realized a split-second too late that he'd overshot his goal. The trees shook with the force of his summoned wind, leaves scattered around, and his mother collapsed.

She whimpered loudly.

Volechek cursed. "Mom!" he shouted. "Are you alright? Oh, gods, I screwed up, I screwed up..." He ran to her and knelt next to her.

Her eyes were shut firmly, both of her hands clamped over her nose and mouth. Her legs were pulled up into a fetal position, and a cold sweat had already broken out upon her forehead. She shivered visibly.

He put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, and then lightly touched her mind with his. He felt waves of remembered pain, and an oppressive weight of terror. As gently as possible – for he did have some practice with this particular skill – he brushed the pain away, leaving her free to recover from her panic attack on her own.

Vol didn't know the whole story. It had something to do with her kidnapping, years ago. She'd ended up in a jail designed to hold Adepts, armed with powerful fields to drain psynergy, activated by psynergy itself.

The scholar Kraden had theories on the existence of beastmen. Their appearance at the Golden Sun's zenith, he said, implied that they were deeply connected to the forces of alchemy. And what Sveta learned in that prison confirmed it.

One escape attempt – one summoned windstorm – was enough to activate the drainage fields, which sapped Sveta of her strength... and then started sapping Sveta. She barely survived. To this day, even a hint of wind, natural or otherwise, sent her back to that moment.

As a Jupiter Adept, it meant that she was cut off from roughly half of her psynergy. As a living being, it severely limited her lifestyle options.

One benefit to living in Kolima was that there was next to no wind, surrounded by trees as they were. Sveta lived here happily and prosperously, but had been unable to leave the forest for twenty-one years.

"Thank you, Vol," she said shakily, having opened her eyes to slits. She still laid on the ground in the same position as before. "You did well."

"But you-"

"I have much to overcome. If you will help, I wish to try again another day." Propping herself up on two shaky arms, she rose to her feet. "But I suspect the throne remains out of our reach for some time yet."

At that moment, they heard a loud whistle. Matthew was approaching – it was both a greeting, and a warning on his part to stop talking about sensitive matters. Emily would soon be within earshot.

"What timing," said Sveta. "So be it. I believe sparring will clear my mind somewhat, but..." She looked at her son with pleading eyes.

"We'll take it slow at first," affirmed Volechek. "It's good to warm up a little bit."

Sveta smiled. "Thank you," she said. Then she took a deep breath to steady herself, and took up her fighting stance.

* * *

><p>He only whistled like that when she was nearby, Emily realized. She'd never thought to wonder why. It made so much sense now. He was warning them to shut up about the whole royalty thing. Volechek knew, of course he knew, having inherited the mind-reading powers that were apparently his birthright. They'd all lied to her. She couldn't trust any of them.<p>

She watched her father, keeping a few steps behind him. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He didn't suspect that she knew.

Not that she was certain yet. All she had to go on were the words of a drunk and a frustratingly obvious set of coincidences. But the pieces were falling easily into place.

_Sveta. Queen Sveta,_ she thought. _She didn't even change her damn name._

She needed to confront them. Force them to admit they'd lied. Get the whole truth. Then, most importantly, make them take her back home. Back to her real home, the palace in Belinsk. They don't want to rule? Fine. But the throne was just sitting there vacant, and the people wanted a queen. Emily thought it would be rude to leave them hanging like that.

When she and her father arrived at the clearing, Sveta and Volechek were already practising. They moved effortlessly through basic martial arts forms, striking and blocking in turn with perfect precision. They weren't fighting yet. Their motions were prescribed, intended to ease them into the flow of combat. Emily had herself performed the very same forms on countless occasions, and found herself stepping in time with each move. It was nearly hypnotic, and it cleared the stress from her mind.

She gripped the hilt of her wooden practice sword. Whatever. She didn't need to confront anyone just yet. And she always preferred the weapon-based portions of training anyway.

Matthew caught Vol's eye, gestured with one of the two wooden swords he held, and then leaned it against a tree trunk. Then he took up the remaining sword, gave it a few test-swings, and moved into his own stretches.

Emily did token warm-ups on her own, but that sword was calling to her. She needed to put it into motion.

"Mind if we skip the formalities today?" she asked her father. "I kinda want to get right into it."

Matthew nodded as if he was expecting the question. He took his sword and brought it out in front of him in a solid all-around stance. His posture was an invitation. "Whenever you're ready," he said.

She swung her own sword out wide and low, bringing it to rest parallel to both the ground and her body. Her left hand extended a tad, both for balance and out of habit. She'd integrate her mother's techniques into her swordfighting later, but for now, it was all about the blades.

Emily and Matthew moved in cautious circles around each other. She felt no shame in admitting that he was better than her even at this phase of combat; every step he took seemed predestined, like his feet were following a well-trodden path only he could see. He would let her make the first move – he always did – but beyond the first encounter, he could go from watching to striking in the space of a blink.

It seemed to her that his sword was a little lower than he usually held it. She knew she was supposed to interpret this as an opening, or at least a sign. He would have a more difficult time defending against attacks directed at his upper body, but he could easily strike her low. But knowing him, it was probably deliberate, and he'd be prepared anyway. Emily smiled in spite of herself. Swordplay was as much a mental workout as physical.

"Plan out your attack," Matthew warned her as he did every session, almost as ritual. "Think several moves ahead. But always plan for your plan to fail. If you can change your strategy at a moment's notice, you'll always be prepared."

She decided to take his bait. A strike to his upper body was risky, but the payoff was great; a hit in the arm – or better yet, the neck – would win the fight immediately. She'd play it safe and go for his left shoulder. He'd see that coming and angle his sword to defend, then strike back at her from that position – a similar high-strike, most likely. She could duck under it and go for his leg, if she recovered fast enough. He'd notice it and skip away, forcing her to go on the offensive again to maintain momentum – okay, that was enough planning.

Emily began to put her plan into action. She swung high at his left shoulder, and as she predicted, her father's sword darted out to deflect it masterfully away; luckily, she hadn't put much power behind the strike, so when he slashed out with his sword-

Except he didn't. He stepped forward _hard_, moving suddenly and with enough momentum to force her to jump back in reflex. Her sword was out too far to guard, but when he went in for his real strike, a quick vertical chop, she was quick enough to step aside.

She knew she could bring her sword back to a guarding position, but that would bring them back to square one. Instead, she decided to press the attack, and so she planned again.

His earlier chop was relatively light, so he'd be able to react to her next move. A simple thrust would be easy for him to parry, but if she feinted, she could force his blade away to create an opening, then strike for his chest.

These thoughts flowed through her mind in an instant, and when her plan had taken shape, her father was still recovering from his vertical strike. Emily brought her sword up and forced it forward in one motion, but as she saw Matthew's sword twitch to fend it off, she pulled back away and struck at his sword instead. She knocked it aside, readied for the finishing blow, and-

Matthew grabbed her sword's pommel with his left hand – she hadn't even noticed him taking it off his hilt - and pushed it away. "Very good!" he validated her with a smile. "If I hadn't been enhanced with Djinn, I might not have been able to recover in time. You did well."

Emily frowned. Djinn seemed like cheating. But her parents always insisted on being fully loaded-out for each practice session, under the reasoning that the enhanced strength and reaction time would help them keep training injuries to a minimum.

Her eyes flicked to where her mother and brother were fighting hand-to-hand. They moved so quickly, almost faster than she could follow – what if they'd given Vol some Djinn too, without telling her? What if her heritage wasn't the only thing they'd held back-

She caught her father's confused look and realized that her emotions were showing on her face. She shook her head. "Sorry. Let's go again."

"Is something wrong?" asked Matthew. "If you're distracted-"

"I'm fine. Let's go again."

He nodded. This time, he brought his sword up to his shoulder, pointing it straight at her. She recognized the stance as that of her grandfather, Isaac of Vale. _At least they told me about THAT half of the family,_ she thought. She tried again to dismiss her anger. She failed.

But she hid it away. Her sword went out to her side again, and she watched her father's movements. She couldn't tell if he was doing anything out-of-the-ordinary. So she planned again.

_Go for the shoulder, maybe... or fake an attack, and kick out at his stomach... no, no._ She growled. _Focus._ She would move in with quick, probing strikes to see where he was most vulnerable. She didn't really know Isaac's style very well; whatever Matthew did would be a surprise to her. But that stance didn't look very versatile. Once he committed, he'd probably be stuck. She needed to watch for a weakness.

A jab at his gut was countered by a hard parry. Matthew's sword spun downward in an arc, sending Emily's weapon completely out of the way, and he carried his momentum through into an elaborate, spinning overhand strike.

Emily's blood flamed, and she dove aside with a sudden burst of energy. She rolled, and as she came to her feet, she slashed up at her father's thigh. Matthew hopped away, bringing his sword back to its ready stance.

But Emily kept coming. She stepped forward and swung again, and this time Matthew only barely got his weapon in place to block it. She spun around the counterstrike and struck again. Matthew's parry was even more desperate.

_Lying bastard, keeping everything from me!_

She drove in low, cutting at his leg. He stepped aside, but she carried through into an upswing. He couldn't get his sword in to block in time. She smiled savagely, knowing she had him.

And then she was on the ground. She'd gotten too low, ignored her balance, and when she pushed the attack, all he had to do was kick out at her – a move she mistook as him stepping out of the way.

She tried to roll away, tried to get her sword up, but Matthew's weapon bore down on her-

CLACK.

She blinked. There was another sword in its path, completely out of nowhere. She felt a light breeze flow over her face.

Her brother's face smiled down at her helpfully. "Want to swap?" he asked. "I think I'm done practising with Mom for now. I need to work on my swordfighting a little."

Emily ignored the lingering pain in her butt from the fall. "That's probably a good idea," she admitted. She'd overcommitted, lost her head in the fight. Rookie mistake. A change of scenery might help her out.

"Is everything alright?" asked Matthew again. He knew she wasn't prone to that sort of fatal error. "If you need to sit out today..."

But her eyes met Sveta's, and the fire burned in her blood again. "No thanks," Emily said. "I have something I need to try."

She tossed her sword aside carelessly and cracked her knuckles, striding confidently toward _Her Royal Majesty_ while _Prince _Volechek – Volechek the Second, she realized – moved to engage... King Matthew? Was that how it went? Whatever. She'd find out eventually.

"Emily, I applaud your intent to train," said Sveta when her daughter approached, "but if something is on your mind, it may be safer to take a break first."

"I'm alright. Really," Emily said. "Are you ready, or do you need a minute?"

Sveta sighed. Then she slowly leaned back into her stance. "I wait on you," she said.

Taking a breath to steady herself – for more reasons than one – Emily nodded. She shook herself a little to loosen up, then raised her fists defensively.

"Just had to prepare," she said. "I hear your fighting skills are _legendary._"

"What-?" Sveta began. But Emily had already begun.

The youngest Czamaral had never been as good bare-handed as she was with a sword, but she was creative enough to make up for it. Despite being unable to perform the lightning-quick barrages her mother and brother were capable of, she was a capable grappler, a skill she could apply to gain the upper hand in almost any situation, armed or otherwise.

She began by kicking out at Sveta's left leg. The older beastwoman brushed it aside with a seemingly-thoughtless sweep of her arm, but as her fist lashed out in answer, Emily's responded in kind. She caught her mother's punch in an open hand, ignored the pain, and _tugged_. Sveta had to throw her right leg forward to maintain her balance, and when her foot hit dirt, Emily was already moving.

A kick to the back of the knee sent her mother tumbling down to the ground. Sveta threw out a hand to catch herself and quickly rolled away before her daughter could strike again.

She leaped to her feet. "Emily, what has-"

Emily dove at her, tackling her to the ground. In a real fight, it would have been an idiotic move; Sveta could fight prone almost as well as she could on her feet, and once the element of surprise wore off, her daughter would have been finished. But the move wasn't intended to gain an advantage. It was meant to intimidate.

"Who the hell are you," shouted Emily, "and what haven't you told me?!"

Sveta narrowed her eyes. "What?" she countered. "I cannot-"

"You heard me fine! If you have even an ounce of respect for me, you'll stop fucking lying to me!" Emily turned to look at her father and brother, who had ceased their training practically mid-swing and were now watching her with horror. "You've been hiding things from me. All of you! What kind of sick family does that? Well, I've had it!"

She turned back to her mother, pinned to the ground beneath her. "Start from the beginning, _Your Majesty,_" she hissed. "Don't leave anything out that I might want to know."

Sveta sighed. "First of all..."

She flipped Emily off her, and in a single, clean motion, reversed their positions. Emily felt the wind get knocked out of her as she hit the ground, and a pair of supernaturally-strong arms held her in place.

"You do NOT speak to your mother in that tone!" shouted Sveta. "I understand your frustration, but that does not excuse rudeness! You shall treat me with the respect I am due, as a parent, if not as a monarch! This is not how I wished for you to learn of your lineage, but if this must transpire, then it shall transpire with cool heads and civil tongues! Am I understood?"

Emily coughed weakly. "...Fine," she muttered.

"'Yes, mother!'" corrected Sveta. "Or, if you must, 'yes, Your Majesty!'"

"What, am I adopted too?" demanded Emily.

Sveta rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder."

She pulled herself to her feet, but didn't offer Emily a hand up. "Practice is over," she announced. "We are going home to finish this discussion in private. You, Emily, will not utter another word until we are safely inside unless it is to apologize respectfully. Now, come along."

Sveta turned and left without looking back. Matthew picked up Emily's training sword and followed closely, giving his daughter a significant look.

Volechek extended a hand to help her to her feet, but she swatted it aside and stood on her own. She didn't speak for the duration of the trip home.

She would follow her mother's rules for now, sure. But she'd be damned if she was going to apologize.

* * *

><p>"I suppose things could be worse," said Sveta once Emily had finished explaining the source of her information. "It seems incredible that Sir Marcus could know that much, yet miss me completely. We were lucky, all things considered."<p>

"Speak for yourself," muttered Emily.

Sveta whirled on her. "When I speak for myself, I speak for all of us!" she said. "We did not keep the truth from you out of malice, but out of necessity. The fewer people who know of our secret, the better. We would have kept the knowledge from Volechek as well, but he inherited the Spirit Sense talent; the question was moot."

"This doesn't have to change anything," suggested Matthew. "In fact, it's probably better if it doesn't. Em, you've lived your whole life not knowing you had royal blood, and you got along just fine. Carry on like before. Your mother was Queen of Morgal, but... she's retired, so to speak."

"Fuck no, I'm not gonna-"

"Watch your tongue, young lady!" shouted Sveta. "And yes, you _are_ 'gonna!' We live as we do because discovery could bring danger upon the family. You will restrict any selfish impulses you may have. Your father would be imprisoned or worse, as he technically kidnapped me before we married. And you and your brother would be forced into a life which you have very clearly demonstrated you lack the maturity to deal with!"

Vol frowned. "Mom, you said-"

"I said nothing concrete," she sent back with a keep-quiet glare. "Regardless, the course is now clear. We must remain in Kolima. We will try as best we can to ease Emily into the knowledge of her family history, but nothing will change. Our life continues as before."

Emily threw her hands in the air. "This is bullcrap. I'm leaving-"

"To go find Sir Marcus again? No, I think not," said Sveta. "You are going to your room, and you will stay there for the rest of the night. In the morning, when we have both calmed down, I will be glad to answer any questions you may have."

"I'm not a kid anymore. You can't just send me to my room-"

"Odd, for I plan to do just that, and I challenge you to stop me. Will you go willingly, or will I drag you there with my bare hands?"

Emily shrugged defiantly before storming up the stairs. Sveta followed quickly behind. Matthew and Volechek remained behind, stunned in the aftermath of the storm.

When Emily inevitably tried to slam her door, Sveta's hand was there to stop it. The door rebounded, and Emily prepared to shout another obscenity or two, but Sveta's expression stopped her.

"You may be my daughter," said Sveta, eyes full of unstoppable determination, mouth set as if in stone. "You may even be the princess of Morgal. But at this point, with your obvious intentions, you are nothing less than a threat to my husband's life. That knowledge is what guided my actions tonight. If you think me to be unfair, so be it, but hopefully you at least understand my reasoning."

She closed the door softly and proceeded down the stairs without another word.

* * *

><p>Bullcrap. All of it bullcrap.<p>

Emily could take the throne easily. She could order her people to let her father life free, considering all he'd done to care for the queen. Queen_s_, even, both of them. Because if Sveta wasn't going to step up, then Emily sure as hell would.

She waited until late at night, knowing that her father would be checking her room for signs of life intermittently. Then, in the deadest dark, she collected her travel pack and sword – her REAL sword, an iron one - and fled through the window.

She stopped at her father's store. She forced the lock and raided his shelves, collecting supplies she'd need for the trip – food, water, and some herbs in case of an accident.

The Sol Blade caught her eye.

She reached up and clutched the hilt. Its power thrummed through her, sending her blood singing. This, too, was her birthright, the sword of her father, the sword of the mightiest Venus Adepts.

She picked it up off its stand.

Then it fell with a clang, as it was much heavier than she'd expected. She froze at the sound, but nothing happened right away.

She hefted the Sol Blade. It would take a lot of hard work to learn to use a weapon of this size. She just wasn't strong enough yet.

_Fine,_ she thought. _I'll come back and collect you when I'm ready._

She carefully placed it back on its stand and hurried out with her stolen goods, closing the door behind her.

The streets of Kolima were utterly vacant, and Emily made no noise as she moved along them. No one stood in her way.

She passed from Kolima to Saha, and was thus officially further from home than she had ever been in her entire life.

As she departed Saha, heading west, she marvelled at the starry night sky. She'd seen it before, but never from the ground. How strange it was to not have a leafy canopy above one's head!

The moon shone down at her from above. It was only a crescent from being full – a gibbous moon, she thought it was called – and at that moment, it looked as bright as the sun.

The silhouette of Belinsk Castle drew her forward.

Glancing back at the forest just once, Emily laughed.

Then she laughed again, louder, realizing that for once, she was out on her own, completely independent and completely free.

All that stood between her and _everything she'd ever wanted_ was, oh, a day, day-and-a-half of travel.

"Look out, Weyard!" she cried. "Here comes Emily, future Queen of Morgal!"

* * *

><p><em>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<em>

_Not dead! Neither me, nor this story. I took a break from it for a good long while, but even though the GS community seems to be fading somewhat, I think I'll come back now and again. _

_I don't know a thing about swordfighting, and I'm barely passable in any martial arts. Hopefully the fight scene didn't suffer as a result. They'll be less technical in the future – this one needed a lot of detail because of the "sparring" backdrop – and they'll hopefully flow much more smoothly, too._

_I posted another M-rated story, by the way. It's called Ruin, and it takes place in an alternate post-DD timeline from this. Two of three chapters are done, and I like how it's turned out so far. Very dark, very mature, but hopefully emotional. I'll probably finish that next. I hope some of you guys check it out!_

_Review Responses from a time long forgotten:_

_Griffemon: I actually much prefer the first two GS games to Dark Dawn, and I highly recommend checking them out if you haven't already! Vol and Sveta are furry-ish... like, not StarFox level, but visibly nonhuman. If you can picture Volechek the First from Dark Dawn, imagine a somewhat more bright-eyed version of him in Volechek Jr's place. As for Tyrell... I think he went into politics, and is on the road to becoming Mayor of Kalay. I could be wrong._

_Adam kirky: This becomes even weirder to read when you pronounce "DoJ" as if it's a word, like "dodge." XD_

_Golden Sun Guy 17: I tried to give a few more hints of description in this chapter, but I think that's my limit; I prefer letting people form their own mental images wherever possible._

_Random Person: Huh? Wow, I remember typing up a response to this and everything. Not sure where it went... sorry about that. But anyway, I don't have a thing against Mars. There just happened to be a very large proportion of important Mars Adepts compared to everybody else in this story. There were plenty of bad things that happened to non-Marses as well. Let's look at the list you made, remove any bad guys (because they were gonna die regardless), and remove the ripple effect caused by Garet's death (since that incidentally happened to affect a lot of Marses). In order from most lost to least:_

_Sveta, Jupiter – Tortured to near-death. Traumatic wind phobia cost her something like half her psynergy, forced her away from any home she's ever known, and basically imprisoned her in the quiet of the forest._

_Jenna, Mars – Lost an eye, and her parents. _

_Felix, Venus – Lost his sanity but not as badly as Mia did. Also lost his parents. Also carries the guilt of having worked for the guy single-handedly responsible for much of the world's tragedy over the past 20 years. _

_Mia, Mercury – Lost her sanity and her husband._

_Maddie, non-Adept – Lost her mother and any chance of closure in that regard._

_Karst, Mars – Lost the use of her legs. (But got them back. Also got a truckload of Djinn. Came out way on top, in truth.)_

_Everyone else was either status quo or came out positive. If you look at the list now, it's very balanced; the truth is, 2 of the 6 Mars Adepts in that story were villains, one of the 4 remaining was Garet, and 2 of the 3 after that were deeply affected by his death. My apparent "grudge" against Marses is the result of coincidence, nothing more. (The fact that the list I made above is 5/6 female is harder to defend, but I swear I'm not a misogynist! I find female characters far more interesting and dynamic, as a rule, which unfortunately means they tend to be more involved in important plot development... which is occasionally bad for everyone involved. I'm working on this.)_

_And it's fine that Emily seemed a little generic at first. She sort of WAS generic, to be honest... I think I've given her some personality development in the months since last chapter._

_Glacierstar: Kept you waiting for a whole... four months-ish? Quite a while for a new chapter. I suspect the cookie has gone stale._

_Lumino: One of the things I learned from DoJ is that I should avoid having a huge cast of characters, actually! I've got the four major characters (the central party) and a few other supporting characters as OCs, but this won't be the sixteen-people-with-plots-to-resolve clusterfuck that DoJ was._

_That said, I've already expanded a little beyond my original plot outline (which didn't include Matthew and Sveta as much as I now think I need to for closure purposes), so who knows how big it'll get. I'll try to keep it tight where possible._

_godofmadness43: I was thinking of leaving it ambiguous, but... I'm pretty sure he's gonna be firmly renegade :D_

_Avatar of Wurms: I'm glad that came out so well! I like Commander NotShepard, he makes it possible to almost write a crossover fic without having to worry about keeping Mass Effect fans entertained. He deserved to be knighted._

_The Knights of Belinsk won't matter much in this story, but they're pretty central to Chronicles of the Wardens, which is where you probably saw them mentioned. If/when I continue that story, the reference here will hopefully seem a bit neater._


	4. Rookie Mistake

**Golden Sun belongs to Nintendo and Camelot, not me. Support them if you like the series! I just write fanstuff. And if you feel like borrowing any of my original ideas, please, go right ahead.**

* * *

><p>"Emily's gone."<p>

Sveta woke in an instant. "She what?! Where? How?"

Matthew was already up and pulling on a pair of pants. "Dunno. I only sense three people in the house, though, including you and me. I'll try and figure out what's going on, you just get dressed and everything. We can sort out what to do next."

"Okay," said Sveta, pulling off the covers and moving straight for the dresser. "You had best wake Vol as well. He will wish to know what happened."

Matthew nodded and, true to form, went right out their bedroom door without another word. Sveta heard him take the stairs down to the second floor.

Then she gave in to the feelings she had repressed for all of thirty seconds. The guilt, fear, anxiety and urgency hit her hard enough to make her physically dazed.

She stopped halfway through dressing, leaning on the furniture for support. _This is my fault,_ she told herself. _I spoke to her too harshly. I pushed her, and she pushed back. In truth, she reacted just as I would have._

There was a noise as her claws dragged along the top of the dresser. _She ran away from her problems, just as I always have. That is why we live here, barely scraping by, hiding from my children their very birthright._

Except that, as a royal just a generation beyond slavery, Sveta had been taught a variety of skills at an early age. Woodsmanship, fieldcraft, tracking, self-defense. Emily had never been in a real fight, had never even slept anywhere but her own bed.

_My daughter is going to die because I was afraid of telling her who she was._

* * *

><p>Vol cracked his knuckles nervously as his father shuffled around the family's general store. His mother looked on, a distraught expression on her face. He didn't need to read her to know what she was thinking.<p>

"She took some hardtack, some jerky, and a bit of water," said Matthew. "I think there's also a tinderbox missing, but that wouldn't make sense. Why would she plan to make a campfire? She forgot to even bring a tent."

"Perhaps shelter did not occur to her," answered Sveta. "She knows nothing of the dangers of the road."

Matthew sighed. "How bloody long does she think it takes to get to Belinsk?" They didn't kid themselves - Emily's objective was plain as day. "Half a minute, give or take a random encounter? No matter how eager she is to get there, she'll need to make camp, especially considering that she probably left in the middle of the night. She'll be exhausted, exposed, and completely unprepared."

"Is there a road between Saha and Belinsk?" asked Vol. "Maybe she'll meet someone on the road who can help her, or-"

"Or rob her, more like," said Matthew. "Gods, I hope she _only_ gets robbed. The Sol Blade isn't hanging properly, so it looks like she considered taking it. I wish she had. She might stand a chance at protecting herself with a relic weapon..."

Sveta paled. "A teenage girl, alone and exhausted from travel, completely at the mercy of highwaymen-"

"I'm going after her," announced Matthew. He grabbed the Sol Blade, placed it in his sheath, and shrugged it over his shoulder. "I'll travel light. If I hurry, I can catch her before she reaches the capitol."

"No!" Sveta moved to bar his exit. "If you fail, if she reaches the city... Matthew, you would be utterly at their mercy. Our laws are harsh, and I have no doubt you would be put to death."

"If I don't go, what do you think the chances are that she'll even make it there unscathed? I won't let any scumbag bandits lay a single finger on my girl."

"She knows how to fight, Matthew. And she has a significant lead, you will never catch her before she reaches the city."

"Sveta, we've been in Kolima for over twenty years, but you can't have forgotten how treacherous the wilderness is. She may already be dead or worse, but I won't stand idle while I can still save her-"

"Can you two _stop squabbling?!"_

Volechek's parents turned to him in shock. He was surprised at himself too, frankly; he hadn't intended to speak the words out loud.

He gritted his teeth. Best to make use of the gap in conversation while he could. "I agree with Dad," he said. "Emily's in serious danger. Someone has to go after her."

Matthew nodded. He looked to Sveta. "I'll take some medicinal herbs in case she needs them. If I'm not back by this evening-"

"You didn't let me finish," interrupted Vol. "Yes, she needs help. No, it doesn't need to be you. Mom can't leave the forest, and you're too well-known to show up in Belinsk without fanfare." He stood up straighter, no bravado, just confidence. "I'll find her, and I'll bring her back. If she makes it to the city, I'll at least be able to blend in enough to get her out again quietly, or... to try to defuse the situation, I suppose."

"Out of the question!" said his mother. "One of my children is already in danger, I will not risk my only son-"

"You don't have any other options," said Vol, interrupting and overruling his parents for perhaps the third time in his entire life. "She might still be mad at you two; if I go, I might be able to let her see reason. It's the safest, and it's the most likely to work."

A moment of vain silence was the only opposition. Matthew and Sveta both knew what he said was true, as much as it hurt to admit. Their gazes softened as they looked upon their eldest, grown up in the blink of an eye.

"At least take some Djinn," said Matthew. "They'll improve your endurance, making it easier for you to catch up with her, and you can split them with her to make sure you both come back safely."

Vol nodded. "Thank you," he said. The offer of Djinn was what made the event finally feel real to him; it was a serious event, with serious consequences, and he needed more than his own mere strength to ensure success. He had never bonded with a Djinni before.

"I'll find her and bring her right back," he continued. "If that isn't possible, I'll send word explaining the situation. That should give you some time to react in a worst-case scenario. But I won't let it come to that."

Sveta took him up in a tight hug. It startled him with its suddenness, but he returned it after a moment. Over her shoulder, Vol caught his father's eye, saw his solemn nod of approval.

"Be safe," whispered Sveta. "Take no risks. Bring your sister back if you can, but if it proves too dangerous, I..." She sniffled. "Just return in one piece. Please."

_Don't play favorites,_ Vol thought. _Don't give me that guilt._ "I will. We _both_ will," he said. "I promise."

* * *

><p>By mid-afternoon, the novelty of being on the road had long worn off. Emily yawned between bites of jerky; it was her lunch, or maybe her dinner considering how long she'd been awake. She was hungry and her legs ached, but she refused to take a break. She hadn't stopped walking since she'd left Saha. She wouldn't stop now.<p>

Even so, it was a long-ass road to Belinsk. Goddamn. It hadn't seemed quite so far when she'd watched it longingly from Kolima's treetops.

One thing that struck her was how _bright_ the outside world was. Living beneath a leafy shade all her life had accustomed her to a certain maximum level of light. Certainly she'd seen the sun before on her frequent trips to the upper canopy, but it didn't feel like that was the natural standard.

Sitting in the full sunlight was a break from the norm for her. It felt wonderful when she lounged in the treetops for half an hour or so, letting the sun bake her as she dreamed of adventure. Having trekked across the landscape all day long, she no longer appreciated the heat quite as much. She was sweating, she was roasting, and she was squinting. How did outsiders live like this? Uncomfortable heat aside, she needed to narrow her eyes to slits just to keep from being blinded. It was awful.

She wondered how the world would look in winter. There were so few trees on these plains, just a wide expanse of dirt and grass and hills, and it would be an endless plain of snow... endless, stretching on in every direction... Geez, it was so wide-open out here.

Emily shook her head firmly. Screw it, she needed to stop and rest. All this sun and walking was messing with her.

The road to Belinsk wasn't entirely rolling plains, after all. She'd seen scattered patches of forest on her way; nothing on the scale of Kolima, but enough to give her twinges of homesickness. She saw one such patch in the near-distance.

A scent on the air caught in her nostrils, her better-than-human senses catching hints of a manmade fire, of settlement. Was someone camping in those woods? She reached out with her psynergy senses. It was too far away to know for sure – it was like trying to read the words on a roadsign a mile away – but she was almost certain there were a handful of people there.

She smiled. Rest and conversation! What luck.

Perhaps they'd be willing to share some water. She'd drank all of hers already. Oh well. She supposed that she had a lot to learn about adventuring.

* * *

><p>It was like an adrenaline rush, a moral victory, a sense of certainty all swirled into a single force of competence, a power that now drove him beyond his own limits. Four Djinn, two Venus and two Jupiter. His parents each possessed nine. The very thought sent Volechek's mind reeling. He felt like he could take on an army; could it be that the stories of Matthew of Kalay and Queen Sveta of Morgal were actually <em>understated?<em>

He'd been sprinting for about two hours, following his sister's scent effortlessly all the while despite it being a stale trail on a moderately well-traveled road.. The wind ruffled his fur like an old friend, and as the landscape rushed by he realized how far from home he was. It was still his kingdom; now that he thought about it, it didn't seem right that he'd seen so little of it. Part of him had always wanted to see the city of Belinsk itself, to wander the castle he might have grown up in had things gone differently.

_No,_ he thought. _I made a promise. Find Emily, bring her home safely._ With the Djinn, he felt he had the power to do almost anything. He WOULD reach her in time. He COULD save her from anything that threatened her. If the whim took him, he realized he could go back home, and get back at the people who ostracised him for being different... Or, or go to the capital, take the throne, and enforce laws that would keep dissenters from endangering his father or what-have-you, all that stuff his family feared-

Gods, how did his parents even live with this temptation? The power to change everything, in a world with so much untapped potential... so much _missed_ potential...

"The sooner I get back home," he said to himself, "the better." He was Prince Volechek Czamaral the Second, and the name carried a mountain of responsibility. He was the firstborn son of a lost queen and her forbidden husband, both of them legendary heroes in their own right. He was the first human-beastman hybrid born in all of recorded history, living proof that differences could be reconciled. He would do what was required of him because he knew he could, and because he knew he was the only one capable of doing so. He would _not_ betray his ideals.

But he understood why others would.

* * *

><p>Emily cursed, loudly and repeatedly, struggling in the confines of the net trap she'd managed to get caught in. She was nearly upside-down, her knees sitting just above her ears, and she couldn't reach the sword on her back to cut herself free.<p>

When she'd triggered the tripwire, and the net hung her from the tree above, a bell had rung. This had been deliberately set, and it was big enough for a person. Or maybe a person-sized animal? She still held out hope that the twelve-or-so people she counted in the forest, half of whom were approaching her slowly, were nothing more than an innocent hunting party.

"Like hell I'm gonna wait around to find out," she muttered.

Shifting her legs to get a better view, she followed the lines of the net that held her. It was weighted at the top and pulled tight by gravity when it triggered, and the rope it swung from coiled loosely around the tree's branch. A short distance away the rope tied around a large rock that served as a counterweight. It looked like the loop of rope was a little too wide for the rock; someone could easily kick the rock aside to drop the net to the ground.

It was too far away for her to reach, and she was in too awkward of a position to toss something in hopes of knocking it away.

A normal person would have had a lot of trouble escaping. A Mars Adept would have gotten out in moments. Emily was slightly more inconvenienced, but not by much.

She reached out with her mind, collecting the dirt and gravel beneath the rock, and in two separate, rolling motions, began to gently push the rock in one direction, and the bottom of the rope in the other. The rock was pretty heavy, so it was slow-going.

"Well, what do we have here?" came a road-worn voice. "You lost?"

She kept working. No one seemed to notice.

"It's a girl, boss. Young'un, she is."

"So I see. I think you took a wrong turn on the road to grandmother's house, little lady."

Emily rolled her eyes. She grunted as she adjusted in the net, trying to get a good look at the man talking to her. He was a human, bald, dirty and leathery. The men he was with were similarly shabby and rough-edged. All six of them were armed and armored. The bow carried by the one in the back was clearly not for hunting game.

"So I did," she replied. "My mistake. Sorry for ruining your trap. Maybe you could let me down, and I'll go on my way?"

"Mm, not sure about that one. What's in it for us?"

"My heartfelt thanks," grunted Emily, "and a sense of moral superiority."

That got a laugh from the crowd. The bald man approached.

"Sorry, miss. We didn't go through all the trouble of setting a snare just so we could feel like saints for letting some unlucky girl go." He shook his head. "When you come down, it won't be to leave." He made a motion with his hand, and a pair of his accomplices moved to flank her.

Emily pushed the counterweight harder with her psynergy. "So, what are you then?" she asked. "Highwaymen? Slavers?" With a grunt, she tried to force herself upright, but realized the sword on her back was caught in the net. She started unbuckling it. "Assassins or something?"

"Hah! Bandits is good enough. Slaving is too much trouble, what with the extra mouths to feed." He smirked. "And who are you to think assassins would bother with your type-"

The rope snapped off of the rock, sending the net careening to the ground. Emily landed on her rump with a sharp pain, but it surprised her assailants enough that they jumped back about a foot, giving her time to open the net at the top and jump away. She'd left her sword behind, rather than let herself stay tangled on the forest floor, but she wasn't afraid to fight unarmed.

"I'm Emily Czamaral," she said proudly, letting the truth of the statement run through her entire being. "Princess of Morgal, daughter of the legendary Queen Sveta Czamaral and the hero Matthew of Kalay. And I don't have time to waste on lowly 'bandits' like yourselves."

There was a beat of silence.

Then some snickering that turned into full-on laughter.

"Screw you!" she cried. "I'm serious!"

The bandit leader shook his head with a grin, then drew his sword. "Lady, I don't give half a damn who you think you are. You're unarmed, outnumbered, and surrounded. Just 'cause the rope slipped and set you free don't mean you're getting out of here so easy."

Emily drew back into a fighting stance. She took stock of the men around her, identifying that the one to her right was closest.

She smiled.

"Just watch me," she said.

Then she raised a foot, stomped hard, and with an added kick of Venus psynergy-

* * *

><p>Vol felt the earth shake, and if he hadn't sensed the psynergy a moment before it was released, he might have stumbled.<p>

It came from the direction Emily's scent led.

"Showoff," he muttered. But at least it meant she was close. He was starting to feel worn out from running.

* * *

><p>Four of the bandits immediately fell over, one of whom was the archer in the back. The man to her right was one of the few who held his ground, but that only lasted long enough for Emily to rush over, deck him in the jaw, and kick the side of his knee hard enough that she heard a crack and a cry of pain. She took the sword from his hand as he fell. She hoped he'd stay down.<p>

The only other person still standing was with the main group, next to the boss who was still lying down in shock. In a panic, Emily reached out and tried to summon grasping vines to keep the fallen where they were. She didn't have time to check and see how well she'd done before she closed the gap between herself and only remaining threat.

The bandit raised his sword aggressively, and she raised hers right back. He came in swinging.

Emily's many practice sessions with her father came rushing back.

_The wild swing is a feint,_ she thought. _I have to block it, but when I counterattack he'll have an easy time avoiding it. So after I strike, I need to kick out at him to distract him while I move into a better position._

She moved her sword to direct the bandit's swing safely away, then stepped forward with a quick jab.

And he didn't avoid it.

The blade sank into his chest sickeningly, blood welling up and flowing down onto her hands. He made a sort of gurgling moan.

He fell back, and the sword went with him, Emily's fingers too weak to hold onto it.

"Oh, gods..." she whispered.

She'd just killed a man.

She felt his life fade and disperse.

Her hands shook, soaked and sticky with red. Blood. It was still warm. It had just been inside of a person and _now it wasn't. Because of her._

She was dimly aware of the other six people she sensed – the other bandits, she supposed – approaching at a rapid pace. Stupid of her, summoning an earthquake. Now she had more people to fight, to, to kill again or die trying...

The bandit leader had finally gotten to his feet, and after a quick look at his dead companion, he roared in anger and swung the axe he carried. Emily jumped away with a squeak of anguish and surprise. Could she still fight? She didn't know. She didn't want to kill again, not so soon, but-

The axe came in again in a broad, horizontal swing. Emily stepped away and around it, then darted in for a punch in the throat. The bandit leader coughed and tried to swat her away with one hand reflexively. She ducked under it, kicked him in the groin, then punched him in the nose. More blood on her hands, but she sensed that he was still alive when he collapsed.

She stepped back, then felt a light tug on the back of her neck. She reached up with one hand, and... blood. Hers? She couldn't tell anymore.

The archer had gotten up, and was reaching for a second arrow. Well, Emily hadn't been hit directly, at least, but maybe he'd skimmed her? She had no idea. But she couldn't let him fire another shot.

She summoned another earthquake, and this time she was the only one left standing. She sensed five people alive, plus herself. Good. And six more, who would be there in moments. Not so good.

And one more, from the opposite direction?

"Huh? I..."

Her vision started to swim. She staggered, leaning against a tree for support. What was going on?

Emily's thoughts were muddy. She tried to raise her fists against anyone who might threaten her, but she was dizzy, and it didn't feel right. She stumbled and fell.

Looking up, she saw the arrow that had grazed her partially embedded in the trunk of the tree. She saw a thin line of blood on it, but the arrow itself was... oily? Shiny?

The lone newcomer was coming up fast, far too fast to be possible.

And then she felt an incredible amount of psynergy, more than she'd ever felt at once before.

* * *

><p>With all his Djinn releasing their power at once, Vol snapped into beastform as if he'd been doing it all his life. His further-enhanced senses detected blood, lots of it, and his precious sister collapsed next to a tree.<p>

He let out a howl.

Vol leaped over her prone form into the midst of the chaos. She still smelled alive, he dimly heard a pulse. These senses were incredible. Arrow in the tree above her, one man with a bow, so he'd likely been the one to wound her. He and three of his companions were moments from rejoining the fight, not to mention the six others charging into the fray.

Bandits. Highwaymen. They would do no more harm.

He summoned a sharp gale to propel him toward the archer. One accelerated punch from his monstrous fist brought the man down with a crack and a snap. Was the man dead? Maybe. Hopefully not, but Vol judged Emily's life to be more important.

Two men with swords, running at him in tandem. He caught both of them in a single mighty kick, tossing them into a thick tree across the way. One more, apparently trying to decide whether it was worth fighting this wolf-beast. Vol picked him up by the torso and flung him into the oncoming group.

He summoned lightning, striking all seven of the men in the pile. They wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

Vol released the transformation, returning to his normal proportions. But as he turned to go help his sister, he spotted one more man with a visibly broken leg, having dragged himself over to the archer and taken his bow.

He drew back an arrow.

And though its aim was true, the arc was lazy and predictable, and Vol still had enough Djinn power to amp up his reflexes. He caught the arrow in midair and tossed it aside.

Vol drew his sword. "Put the bow down. Now," he said.

The man didn't put the bow down. He reached for another arrow.

So Vol dashed in and struck.

His mind felt numb. There was anguish, to be sure, regret at having become a murderer. But the most prominent thing in his mind was his sister's well-being.

He ran over to her. "Are you alright?" he gasped. "Answer me, please..."

She opened one glassy eye. "What are you doing here?" she slurred. "Shouldn't you... shouldn't you be back home, with..."

Vol cursed. He gripped her hand tightly and, without quite understanding how he did it, transferred the two Venus Djinn to her. She needed the extra strength.

Both of her eyes snapped open and she inhaled sharply. "What?! What the hell was _that?!_"

_Hi, my name's Flint! I'm a Djinni! I helped your father, and your father's father, and now I'm helping you! Isn't that great?_

Vol tugged the arrow out of the tree. He examined the arrowhead very carefully.

"This is what hit you?" he asked. "It's smeared with something. I think you might be poisoned."

Emily struggled to her feet. "Oh," she said. "That explains a lot. Wow, these... uh. Wow, Mom and Dad let you borrow Djinn?" She blinked. "Holy cow, that was _you_ fighting just now? Geez! That..."

She swooned, and Vol grabbed her arm to steady her.

"We need to get you to a doctor," he said. "Those Djinn will slow the poison down, but I can't do anything about it here."

"O-okay. Thanks." Her eyelids fluttered. "Damn. This... this is some strong stuff."

"Just fight through it for me, okay?" Vol said. "Here, I'll..."

She began to fall, and Vol caught her, taking her up in his arms protectively.

_This isn't good,_ he thought as he carried her out to the main road. _It took me hours to get here from Kolima, running at top speed with four Djinn. What hope do I have of saving her?_

And then, as he looked to the horizon, it hit him.

"Damn," he thought. "Damn, damn, _damn._"

Emily slowly looked up at him, then turned her head to follow his gaze.

She smiled.

They could see the crest of Belinsk Castle from where they stood.

"Looks like this trip wasn't a total loss, huh?" she joked.

Vol cursed. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he started running toward the city.

* * *

><p><em>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<em>

_Nope, not dead. Me, I mean. The story still might be. Sorta. I dunno, April Fool's Day hit and I found myself reminiscing about being able to pull pranks on people in a public forum, which somehow lead to writing fanfiction. Woohoo._

_These days I'm mostly writing original fiction, but I might pop in here now and then to update, 'cuz why not. Thanks for reading!_


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